Realization On A Winter's Eve
by VestaSulOfAshes
Summary: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this? DMRW
1. Christmas Carols: The Rivalry Begins

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: The White Stripes - Little Acorns  
Chapter One: Christmas Carols: The Rivalry Begins  
  
Snowflakes fell lazily from the heavens in graceful spirals to the frosted ground below. At this moment, Ron Weasley was staring outside the tall window at them with large, blue eyes glistening, like he was really gazing at a massive chocolate cake, or an alluring Veela girl. The snow looked so inviting as it was just starting to fall, and it was calling him to be a little boy again and run outside and play. Unfortunately, Ron was not a little boy. He was nearly sixteen, and sitting in dreaded Double Potions. He could only gaze, enchanted by the falling crystals. He was only slightly aware of a large shadow looming over him, and a harsh voice somewhere off in the distance.  
  
Mr. Weasley, Mr. WEASLEY!  
  
Ron jerked out of his trance with a sudden lurch in his chair. As his eyes focused on reality, he was instantly greeted with the awed expressions of all his classmates, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, well- the Slytherin faces were filled more with usual contempt than awe. A group of girls in the corner started to giggle, and Hermione instantly made a move to try to shut them up.  
  
And behind him, to his immediate dread and disappointment, stood a chalk-faced Professor Snape. He looked naturally venomous.  
  
Well, Mr. Weasley, I was beginning to wonder when you'd finally grace us with your presence, he drawled coolly. The Slytherin girls started to snicker again, and Ron couldn't help noticing an almost cheery Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, nudging Goyle heartily. Ron scowled, and exchanged wary glances with Harry, his working partner, who turned to cast a small sneer at the platinum-haired Slytherin boy. Snape continued, Mr. Weasley, if I were your student, and you were up at the front of the room, lecturing on a common healing extract from an exotic Amazon plant, you'd want me to pay attention to the lecture, wouldn't you?  
  
Honestly, Ron didn't give a fuck whether or not the imaginary student-Snape would be paying attention to him. He didn't plan on ever teaching such a boring class as this.  
  
Instead of saying that, he replied, Yes, Sir.  
  
Snape leaned back from the desk as if this was some surprise. You would? Well then, why, when I stand before **_you_** do you not understand the concept of paying attention to me? His voice was so icy, Ron didn't even need to go outside to feel the cold which was pouring out of Snape's malicious words. Snape turned away suddenly, with black robes swishing against the floor as he marched up to the front of the classroom, booming over his shoulder as he went, Perhaps detention, and fifteen points from Gryffindor will make you more agile to keep your mind in class.  
  
Instantly, all the Gryffindors groaned, and Malfoy's eyes glittered with contentment. Ron could've socked him in the face for wearing such an expression, but the school bell suddenly chimed, and it was time for dinner. As Ron and Harry gathered their books, a bunch of Gryffindors rushed by, giving the redhead odd glances as they went. The giggling Slytherin girls followed, and Hermione raised an eyebrow as she helped Ron stick his books into his cauldron. They left the dungeon without saying a word to each other.  
  
As they made their way down the corridor to the Great Hall, they were suddenly stopped by Malfoy and his hulks barging in front of them. Malfoy grinned. Bravo, Weasel, or shall I call you Britney now? Crabbe and Goyle laughed harshly, and Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.   
  
Bugger off, Malfoy, Ron snarled, though he honestly had no idea what the blonde was talking about.  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow in fake hurt. Oh, Britney, all I wanted was an autograph. Maybe, when you get all famous, you'll make enough money to buy soap to wash your ugly face. His thugs howled with laugher again. This time Harry was the one to speak:  
  
Bugger off!   
  
The blonde boy immediately barked out a laugh. And what are you, Potter? His backup dancer? Oh, right. You don't know how to dance 'cos no girl would want to dance with clumsy, stupid Harry Potter. At this, Harry and Ron both clenched fists. So, I guess you're all a trio, is that right? Malfoy grinned wider. You can sing little songs on the streets to Muggles and get enough money to buy Weasley a new Muggle radio so he doesn't have to sing to entertain' his Muggle-loving family.  
  
Sod off, Ferret face! Ron hissed, feeling his cheeks burn angrily.  
  
He expected Malfoy to say another insult, and was preparing to dish it back even though he still wondered what on God's green earth his nemesis was talking on about. But, surprisingly, Malfoy backed down, chuckling to himself as he signaled his cronies to follow him down the corridor.  
  
Ron stared after him, fuming and red-faced. Hermione's mouth was in a rather tight line, and Harry shook his head. Finally, Ron couldn't stand being confused, and questioned, What the bloody hell was Malfoy talking about? Britney?  
  
Harry smirked slightly, When you were sitting in Potions, you got all caught up in this daydream, and you.....well, er.....  
  
You started singing, Hermione finished, wide-eyed, Christmas carols to be exact.  
  
Ron felt like a troll had just whopped him over the head with a club. Exasperation. Singing? Christmas carols?! His friends nodded.   
  
Harry suddenly became very interested in his shoelaces. Don't get me wrong, Ron. You have a very nice voice, but-  
  
In front of Malfoy?! Oh, shit. Oh, shit, this is bad! Ron put his face in his hands, now he really was beet red.  
  
No, it isn't, Hermione tried to soothe. In a few days, everyone will forget. Come on, she rested a hand on his back. Let's go have dinner.  
  
Ron shook his head and quickly dragged himself up the stairs, to his room. He was furious. How could this fucking happen?! He'd just made an idiot of himself in front of everyone, won himself detention, and lost his house fifteen points! Oh, damn that Snape! Damn the lovely snow, and especially, damn Malfoy.  
  
Oh, he hated Malfoy with a passion. Ever since the day they'd first met, Ron was certain he'd found his future assassin. Malfoy was evil, heartless, snobby and girly. He even _looked_ like a girl! He had a thin body, semi-long, platinum hair, and a really lovely face. Hang on. Did he just think Malfoy was lovely? Hell no. It was just a random thought. But he was enviously good-looking. Ron would admit that to himself, but Malfoy's snobbery made all of the beauty disappear.  
  
And now, Malfoy was going to spread Ron's singing in class dilemma around the whole of Hogwarts! This was not good. This was, in fact, the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to him. Although his voice wasn't that bad, he didn't want everyone to know he'd been singing Jingle Bells or something! Oh fuck!  
  
Ron flopped onto his bed and buried his head in his pillow. He reasoned to himself, I'll go and hex Malfoy right now, then he won't be there to laugh his Ferret-head off. That's what I'll do. His mind prompted him to get up and carry out his plan. Unfortunately, he fell asleep instead.  
  
  
******************************************************************  
  
It wasn't like Draco had anything against Weasley. Well, he was a Mudblood-lover and only a step higher than the House Elves on a rich society level, but Weasley....really wasn't that bad, Draco honestly thought. The boy had a lot of guts, standing up to a Malfoy. And since Day One, Draco had secretly been rather impressed with the boy's courage. Not that he was really all that courageous. He acted like a pussy a lot of the time, especially next to stupid Potter. The handsome Slytherin figured that if Weasley just lost Potter, he'd be all right. And if he got some more money. But it's not like that was ever going to happen.  
  
In all sincerity, Draco thought Ron was really very pretty. He had red hair that stood out like Hell's flames. Red was such a passionate colour. And his eyes were this river-blue, to sort of extinguish the scarlet flames. He had a light display of tiny, brown freckles on his nose, leading down to his delicate, rose-petal lips. Draco thought of his mother's fondness for rose gardens when he was little, and could clearly remember bringing a freshly cut, pink rose up to his face, gently inhaling its sweet scent, and feeling its feather-soft petals brush against his lips as he did so. He'd recently begun to wonder if that's what Ron's lips felt like. But, at this rate, he figured he ought to come to the realization that he'd never really know.  
  
But that was just his face. Then there was also his body- gently muscled, slightly tan arms, and Draco imagined that the rest of Ron's frame was like that. But as said before, Draco had a feeling he'd never know; never see past the heavy layers of hand-me-down clothing.  
  
Now, all that the Slytherin boy could do was continue to make fun of him the best he could. He didn't really want them to be enemies- bloody hell! He wanted the exact opposite! But, since there wasn't any way that would happen, he'd just have to remain opaque and jerkish to the redhead. Besides, the colour Weasley's face turned when he got mad at Malfoy was damn sexy.  
  
  
******************************************************************  
  
Ron awoke the next morning with a headache. He'd somehow managed to roll right out of bed sometime that past night, and now he found himself on the floor, face down to the floorboards, inhaling dust and a chocolate frog wrapper.  
  
Groaning, he stood up dizzily and dusted himself off. Turning to his left and right, he found that everyone had already gone down to breakfast, and he was alone. Probably because of my performance yesterday... he thought aloud, grasping his towel as he dragged himself into the boy's bathroom.  
  
Stupid Malfoy, he vented to himself while combing out his messy hair in the empty bathroom. I wish I could get him back. Have something to laugh at him about. And, by Gods I will. Just what could I do? He reached for what he thought was his hair gel and squirted it into his hand. I mean- He paused, looking at the white goop in his hand. What is this? he wondered, rinsing off his hand and lifting the bottle to inspect it. It read _White Out_ on it. What? Oh, right. Harry had been using this Muggle stuff that looked like bird shit, to try and cover up a bit of graffiti on the bathroom wall that said Harry wants old men. Ron suspected Seamus had written it as a practical joke. He chuckled to himself as he thought about that. he mused to the large bathroom mirrors, What a horrible thing that would've been if I got this crap in my hair. Then an idea hit him; an idea so clever that he wished he had someone there to high five him. His lips quirked into a smirk as a pinwheel of thoughts flashed through his brain. he whispered, licking his lips as he stuffed the Muggle bottle into his pocket and ran into the dormitory to find Harry's invisibility cloak. It was only half-seven. He definitely had time.  
  
  
******************************************************************  
  
Draco grinned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He felt that he looked especially good today. Not that he didn't look good any other day, but today was even better. Crabbe stood to the left of him, brushing his teeth with brutal awkwardness, as if the toothbrush were too little for his fat mouth.  
  
Draco carefully buttoned the front of his black shirt and announced to no one in particular, Father bought it for me just last week. He says, with our Quittich match coming up at the end of the week, I ought to look especially charming to build up a campaign for Slytherin team. What do you think? The last part was directed at Crabbe, who looked up densely from the sink, toothbrush hanging from his teeth.  
  
Er...You look nice, Draco, he said bluntly, then turned back to the mirror with a grunt.  
  
Yeah, much better than tattered and grime-covered Weasley. He couldn't afford to own a sleeve of this shirt. Draco drawled, feeling that it was important to compare himself to Weasley, just to give himself the extra boost of dignity.  
  
As he finished struggling with the last button, he noticed in the reflection of the mirror that the bathroom door was slowly opening behind him. He squinted at its image, watching it close itself, and no person had actually yet appeared from behind it. Did you see that? he asked Crabbe suspiciously.  
  
Crabbe replied, staring into the mirror, confused, as his friend was doing.  
  
The door opened, and then closed, like a Ghost just walked in, changed his mind and walked back out, Draco answered quietly, turning himself around to give the oak door a hard stare.  
  
I didn't see anything, Crabbe said plainly, after spitting out toothpaste loudly into the sink. Then he pondered aloud, as if it were the hardest observation to make, Maybe you're just hallucinating. You said, yourself, to me yesterday that you've not been getting much sleep lately.  
  
That's true. Malfoy pulled at his hair slightly, a habit he had when he was busy figuring something out. Then he smirked to himself. Perhaps I'll go tell that Pomfrey bitch that I'm sick and need to lie down for the rest of the day.  
  
Good one, Crabbe snickered and gripped his bottle of hair gel. Then, he sneered at it with distaste and tossed it over his shoulder so it made a loud _crack_ against the stone floor tiles. Malfoy had taught him that trick. Shit. It's empty, he said, scowling. Then he looked at Draco desperately. Draco, do you, er, think I could use some of yours?  
  
Not too much, since I still have to use it, Malfoy replied, reaching for his own personal bottle which his mother had bought for him while traveling in Paris. It smelled really good, and he wasn't sure if such a hulk as Crabbe really deserved it. But he put his hand out to snatch up the bottle anyway, and was surprised to feel only the bathroom counter. What in bloody- he muttered, staring down at the place his hand had been. Now, hang on. It was right there a minute ago.  
  
I saw it too. Think Pomfrey will let us both into Hospital Wing? Crabbe half-joked, shrugging. Then he suddenly crouched down and picked up a small bottle which he'd just noticed was by his feet. Wait, here it is, Draco, he said, unscrewing the bottle and sniffing it. His face scrunched up into a scowl. Ugh! It smells like shit, Malfoy.  
  
Draco grabbed the bottle from his thug's hand and poured a little of it into his palm. Yeah. It's thicker than usual. His lips quirked into a malicious smile. Maybe we should give it to Weasley. He'll take horse shit with open arms. The two boys chuckled, and Malfoy began to rub the gelatin into his beautiful, blonde locks.  
  
Crabbe looked down at his watch and his eyes bugged. Breakfast is nearly over! Oh, hurry up, Malfoy.  
  
All right! Let's get going, Draco agreed, and the two Slytherins hurried down to eat.  
  
As soon as the door closed, Ronald Weasley lifted his borrowed invisibility cloak off of his head and smiled to himself triumphantly. How he'd managed to get in here was still a miracle, but he'd done it, and now his plan was complete. Any minute now.....  
  
  
Draco and his two cronies strutted into the Great Hall, with Crabbe and Goyle peering around the room for whatever food was left to steal, and Malfoy looking straight ahead, feeling especially sharp in his brand new shirt. He slid into a chair beside the Slytherin table and watched as several male and female students turned their faces toward him, then turned to each other and began whispering and giggling.  
  
Draco quirked an eyebrow. **WHAT** was going on? It was then that Pansy Parkinson strode past the table with her thick ringlets bouncing violently at her every waddling step. She was reading some magazine entitled, BEAUTIFUL WITCHES' GLAMOUR AND WIZARD-SNATCHING. Draco snorted, and the chubby witch said a small, flirtatious, Hi, Draco, from behind the magazine cover, not really looking at him.  
  
Draco replied, taking two remaining scones from their tray.  
  
Oh, Draco, Pansy's shrill voice chirped excitedly, still behind the magazine, I can't wait to see you play in the Qui- There was a moment's pause, then Pansy let out a loud shriek, causing all in the Great Hall to look at her. By this time, her eyes had appeared over the top of the magazine to look at the Slytherin , and as they did, they widened to the size of scones Draco was holding, and her cheeks reddened slightly. Look! Your HAIR! she cried, dropping the beauty magazine altogether.  
  
What are you- Draco snapped as he reached up to feel his hair, but when he touched it, he trailed off in speech, feeling the gel that hadn't yet dried in his platinum locks. Wait a minute. This wasn't hair gel! He lifted the glassy plate in front of him to look at his reflection, but nearly dropped it when he noticed a thick, white solution all over his hair. It seriously looked as though he'd dumped a vanilla milkshake on top of his hair, and drops of it lazily rolled off the back strands, staining the back of his spiffy, black robes! he moaned, cringing as he stood up abruptly, trying to shake off the goop without much previous thinking. At this point, everyone was laughing loudly as the sixteen-year old snatched up a napkin and began hastily sopping up the mess in his hair.   
  
Draco couldn't think right now. He was completely puzzled as he rushed from the Great Hall, still violently scrubbing his head free of the gluey substance. How humiliating! Everyone had seen him. EVERYONE! But how did this happen? He wouldn't have intentionally put this shit into his hair! He stopped walking, and tugged at his hair again (still sticky), thinking. The hair gel. It must've been tampered with! But who would dare mess with a Malfoy's stuff?  
  
It was then that none other than Ron Weasley came from around the corner, smiling brightly as he looked at Draco innocently. Hi, Malfoy. Get all that owl crap out of your hair yet?  
  
Draco clenched his fists as realization hit him. he snarled, moving closer to the redhead. You did this, you stupid, ugly git!  
  
Ron beamed even bigger. Don't lose your temper, Malfoy. It doesn't make your pale face look very good.  
  
Draco felt his stomach choke up with rage, but he instantly made himself cool down, and not make it seem like Weasley was winning. Why don't you write a **_song_** about it, Weasel. I mean.....Britney. He smirked maliciously.  
  
Oh, come on, Malfoy, Ron replied with forced calm. Making fun of that is so old now. I'll bet you couldn't come up with anything better? He raised his eyebrows slightly, taking a careful step closer to his rival.  
  
Draco was surprised by the challenge, but he took a step forward as well, bringing them about a foot apart. I can come up with something that will make you cry for your poor mummy.  
  
But you won't. Ron took another step forward.  
  
I will. Another step from Draco.  
  
Now, Ron was mere inches from Draco, and he could feel his enemy's warm breath on his face. To be extra menacing, the redhead forced his eyes to meet Draco's, and when he did, he wished he hadn't. Ron had never known that it was possible to be nearly stupefied, just by looking into someone's eyes, until now. He'd always thought Malfoy's eyes were gray at a glance, but now he saw that they were pure silver; Silver, with little, aqua flecks in the center. It was like looking out the window back in Snape's class, seeing snow fall gently on the world. Ron's favourite place. Ron's home. In Draco's eyes. In Draco's....WHAT?!  
  
Ron instantly realized that somehow his face had gotten an inch closer to Draco's, and he felt, with horrid realization, the soft breath from his enemy, lightly massaging his lips as he continued to gaze into Draco's winter-scene eyes. He quickly blinked, and forced his thoughts to slam back together. he whispered, still with a threatening tone. Prove it. I dare you. He watched an unrecognizable emotion flash across Malfoy's face, then the blonde suddenly pulled away, smirking.  
  
You have it coming to you, Weasel, Draco said softly, then he strode down the corridor, out of sight.  
  
A Word From The Author:  
  
Oi! How goes it, everyone? Here begins the tale of an exotic Draco/Ron pairing. Now, I don't mean to confuse you, and I know some of this won't make sense if you've read The Order of the Phoenix, but bare with me. I started writing this two days ago, before reading the OotP, then I did read it, and I realize that it's a bit difficult to change this to fit the fifth book, so for now, I say, forget the fifth book and pretend none of that happened yet, so Malfoy and Ron aren't prefects and all that jazz. Thanks a bunch!   
  
Oh, and please do review. I'd like to know how this is looking, even though I'm not that far into it yet. I also have another story at www.fictionpress.net, entitled . It's a true story (yes, it really is!) about my two best friends falling for each other. Lovely, slashy work. My name there is if you look for it under authors, so go for it, and tell me what you think. It's a little harsh, yeah, but it's practically all true. I changed the names of a few people in it. That's about it. But, anyway, thanks so much for your support and brightest blessings!  
  
delicious love, Ebony LaShalter


	2. Continuing Rivalry Comes To A Halt

  
  
Draco spent the next two days carefully trying to concoct a master plan in his mind. What could he do to get back at Weasley? Something bad- no! Something evil. Something that would hit a nerve in Ron and make his face turn scarlet. But what could he do?  
  
By now, the snow was falling harder, and the grounds were completely covered with the white cold. As he'd pondered about a perfect plan those past days, sitting in Potions class, he couldn't help stealing glances over at his redheaded rival, who was blinking out the window as he stirred his red potion, with a look of complete longing on his face.  
  
Personally, Malfoy hated snow. It was cold and unmerciful, and your feet could freeze around it. Sort of like him- HE was exactly the same way, and maybe it was the fact that Draco hated himself that made him also hate the snow so much. But Ron loved the snow- he adored it! The innocent Gryffindor couldn't seem to take his eyes from the cold, dancing element, and he licked his lips excitedly. Draco watched this and wondered how someone so pure and bright could love such a bitter, unfeeling thing. And also, if Draco and cold were so alike, and Ron loved the snow, could he love Draco as well?  
  
Shake it off, Draco, Malfoy told himself quietly. You don't love anything, so why should he love you?  
  
Goyle, who sat beside him, looked up from his maroon potion, shaking his head at the fact that he'd messed it up somehow, then he gave Draco a questioning look. Did you say something, Malfoy?  
  
Draco snapped out of his thoughts and blurted out, a little too quickly.  
  
Goyle shook his head again, then stirred his potion glumly.  
  
  
It was the night of the second day that Draco made his comeback at Weasley, but it was really quite unexpected as the opportunity presented itself before Draco's eyes. He sat on the large, dark green divan beside the fireplace in the dreary, Slytherin common room, gazing down at a star chart he was trying to complete.  
  
Suddenly, the door to the girl's dormitories swung open, and Pansy, followed by three other girls came strutting from behind it, with their hair in matching green curlers. When she saw Draco she plopped down onto the couch beside him. Hi, Draco, she said smoothly. What are you doing?  
  
Draco, feeling not very much in the mood to be bothered by Pansy and her giggly friends said a short, I'm busy working.  
  
Pansy nodded, slightly taken aback. Then she suddenly switched back over to her high, flirtatious voice again and announced, Well, the girls and I are trying to figure out who's most date-worthy in this school, and we all agreed that it's you.  
  
Draco tried to look surprised, though he knew this already. He'd been date-worthy since the moment he'd walked into this school.  
  
another girl with dirty-blonde hair named Anise Willowtrap chimed in, It was actually between you and Ron Weasley.  
  
Draco snorted. What, no Harry Potter? But, Ron- now that was surprising! HE, for one, thought Ron was immensely attractive, but he'd never thought all the girls of Slytherin did too.  
  
Pansy cut into his musings, We were curious if you or Ron had girlfriends.  
  
Draco smirked. He was loving the attention, even if it was coming from mouse-faced, teenaged girls. Well, I haven't got a girlfriend right now, Draco said softly, smiling broader when all the girls squealed excitedly. And Ron- Then, the idea smacked him across the face. _Perfect....._ he thought wickedly, then said in the most sincere voice he could muster. Actually, none of you have a chance with Ron. He's gay,  
  
Every single one of those girls turned pale and they gasped.  
  
Draco shrugged, then added, and he only likes little boys, like first years, to be exact.  
  
Pansy scrunched up her face in disgust. You can't be serious, she cried.  
  
Oh, no! Draco drawled, looking around. Don't tell _anyone_ I said this, but... He paused for effect, waiting for all the girls to lean closer, then whispered in a gossipy voice, the other day, I saw him pinning this whee-little kid up against the wall, kissing him like he was trying to lick his face off. Pansy and Anise exchanged startled glances, and the rest of the group gasped again.  
  
That pervert! Anise whispered loudly. The other girls nodded their heads vigorously.  
  
Oh, yes, Draco said dramatically. And thinking about it makes me feel so...filthy. I must have a bath. If you'll just excuse me, girls, he announced, standing, and the girls quickly moved to get out of his way as he padded swiftly to the boy's bathroom. It was when he closed the bathroom door behind himself that he made a very big smile.  
  
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Ron was awakened the next morning by a loud rapping on his dormitory door. He groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes and mumbled,   
  
Ron, it's Hermione. Can I come in? Hermione's voice was very urgent.  
  
Ron replied, pulling himself from his bed and slipping into his tattered, blue slippers. The door burst open and Hermione and Harry hurried inside. both looking very exasperated.  
  
Hermione started, trying to catch her breath from running. We just found out. Everybody knows.  
  
Ron yawned and stretched indifferently. Know what?  
  
Harry was the one to speak now. You know, about you, and.... His face turned a slight shade of pink.  
  
Oh, Ron, why didn't you tell us you were attracted to first year boys? Hermione looked shocked, but he face could be called perfectly content' when compared to the face Ron now made.  
  
he screeched.  
  
Really, Ron. Kissing little boys in corridors! Hermione exclaimed.  
  
What are you talking about?! Ron started angrily, feeling his cheeks burn. I'm not attracted to first-  
  
Well, there's no need to deny it, Ron, Harry cut in. Everyone says you are.  
  
But I'm not! Ron yelled. Why would anyone think I was attrac- Ron paused, realization suddenly dawning on him. he groaned. This was Malfoy's doing.  
  
What do you mean? Hermione questioned, but Ron was already heading for the door, still dressed in pajamas and slippers.  
  
I knew he'd make a comeback! He just had to! he called over his shoulder, leaving behind him, two very confused Gryffindors.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
Draco was walking to breakfast with a very satisfied look on his face. The rumor had spread in record timing. He couldn't wait t see the look on Weasley's face.  
  
**_Thud!_**  
  
Draco was knocked to the ground by a sudden force landing on top of him. Rolling onto his back, he looked up to find a very red-faced, very venomous Ron on top of him, sneering down at him.  
  
Malfoy....You- YOU!  
  
What's this, Weasley? Draco raised his eyebrows and smirked. Decided that you prefer _older_ boys, now? Well, this is kinky.  
  
Ron glared daggers and snarled, NO! You- Malfoy! You- Ron was lost for words, he was so angry and mortified.  
  
What are you trying to say, Weasley? You have preferences on how it should be done? I, for one, like it very rough and hard. Draco grinned triumphantly as he watched Ron process the last words in his mind.  
  
The redhead leapt up quickly and spat, I'll kill you, Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy got up and smoothed his robes. Nice pajamas you've got there. Actually, they really **_were_** nice, on Ron. They fit him too tight in all the right places, which made Draco feel a tiny fire start to blaze in the pit of his stomach. Oh, shit.  
  
Shut up! Ron shouted. His face was almost purple now, and he felt like his head would explode. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at his enemy. Don't think I won't do something horrible!  
  
Now, really, replied Draco in a calm, measured voice, though he was starting to feel the thrill of danger, Is that necessary? I mean, all I did was expose the truth about you being gay. He paused, then asked curiously, You are gay, aren't you?  
  
Hearing the question made Ron's wand-holding hand quiver slightly. He honestly didn't know the answer to that question. At one time he'd really liked Fleur, but now he wasn't sure. And he also thought some boys were very good-looking, like Malfoy, but did that mean he was gay? He realized that he'd waited too long to give his answer, but he quickly blurted out a small causing Malfoy to raise an eyebrow at him. I'm not, Ron insisted, trying not to blush again.  
  
Draco responded, though he wasn't really sure if he could back up this argument. Sure, he'd seen Ron's hesitation to say , but Draco honestly felt he was steering himself into new territory that he didn't know at all by pursuing this fight.  
  
Ron clenched his fists. I'm not, you Ferret! He was so angry, and he gripped his wand firmly, lining it up with Malfoy's chest, then without thinking, shouted the first spell that came to his mind.  
  
A green beam exploded from Ron's wand and hit his enemy in the chest, sending him flying three feet until his body smacked against a pillar. Ron's eyes bugged. He hadn't meant to do that! But before he could say anything, Malfoy stumbled toward him, pointed his wand at him and retorted, You seem horny, Weasley! Why don't you just let it OUT of your SYSTEM?! He yelled a few words of another spell, and Ron was suddenly struck by a flash of silver light, right in his crotch.  
  
Ron gasped with mortification as a pain welled up in his groin, and watched as a bulge of a quickly-filling erection formed under his pj trousers. he moaned, gripping himself to try and stop the blood from filling his arousal, but it kept growing, very fast and very painful until it reached full hardness and he exploded everywhere. Ron closed his eyes as searing pain and pleasure rushed through him, filling his trousers very noticeably.  
  
Draco watched the redhead as Ron fell to his knees, still orgasming from the spell Draco had sent. It was a great, little spell, but there was one problem. Watching Ron come all over himself was starting to make Draco rather hot and bothered. But still, it was so worth it!  
  
When the tremors passed, Ron got up, feeling sticky and hot. he whispered, gazing down at his pj trousers.  
  
You mean you want me to? Malfoy couldn't help teasing the Gryffindor at his previous exclamation. Sorry, Weasley. But I don't like you like that.  
  
Draco was expecting a retort from Ron, but Weasley just turned scarlet again, glared at him, then suddenly launched himself at him with a growl, catching Draco off guard. Ron punched Draco right in the nose, and Malfoy swore he felt something brake. It didn't faze him still, and he took a blow at Ron's cheek, causing it to bruise. Ron stumbled back, clutching his face, tasting blood in his mouth, then reached forward and grabbed his rival's throat tightly.  
  
Boys! BOYS! Let go of him, Mr. Weasley! Mr. Malfoy! STOP! came the booming voice of Professor Snape.  
  
Ron and Draco stared at each other for a moment, each silently daring the other one to let go first. Finally, Ron loosened his grip around Malfoy's neck, stepped back and looked away. Somehow, neither of the boys could look at each other now; both hot and embarrassed.  
  
Professor Snape's face was very white as he scolded bitterly, There will be no fighting of magical or non-magical kind in the corridors. Thirty points will be taken from both of your houses, and detention will be in order. Be at my classroom at five o'clock, tonight! He turned to leave, but then whirled back around and added harshly, Be glad you're not expelled!  
  
With a whip and swish of his flowy robes, the greasy-haired wizard left the boys standing there, in a slight daze.  
  
A word from the author: 'Ello! Not much to say about this really, but you have indeed witnessed a tiny reason for why this story is rated R. Who'd have thought?! A spell to make you orgasm for a really long time! But anyhow, I have to be going. Late dinner time. Thanks for all the reviews!  
  
Delicious love, Ebony L


	3. Detention And A Proposition

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: The Cranberries:   
Chapter Three: Detention and a Proposition  
  
  
Ron stared glumly around Snape's classroom at 5:01. Right now he _would be_ having dinner, and his stomach was growling angrily at the change in routine. The dark dungeon was deserted, so Ron's footsteps echoed as he entered it, throwing his books and cauldron down on a table.  
  
The sun was just going down outside, and he immediately was drawn to the glittering, white flakes on the other side of the window. He went to the window, which was just above his head, so he had to stand on his tip toes to look out of it. He wished he could be sleigh riding right now, or skiing, or snowshoeing- even as painful as snowshoeing can be. He just wanted to feel the winter air on his face. He wanted to dance around as a crazy person would do. And, once again, he was trapped.  
  
Someone cleared his throat. Ron spun around, finding himself face to face with Draco Malfoy. The handsome blonde shook his head, smirking. You're singing again, Weasley.  
  
Ron's face flushed a little. Damn it. I thought I'd stopped doing that by now.  
  
It's fine, Draco replied, flopping carelessly into a desk chair. I won't make fun of you for that anymore.  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows. Wow. Malfoy was being sort of nice. That was different. It was then that a faint, sickening odor hit him, and he quickly rubbed his nose, trying to block out the smell. Malfoy, you smell like....paint.  
  
Draco's head snapped up to sneer at him. Well, one would usually smell that way if they had been _painting_.  
  
Ron mumbled, feeling a little surprised. He didn't know Malfoy painted.  
  
As if reading Ron's mind, Draco said in a softer voice. It's a hobby I have. Sometimes I get bored, so, Ron nodded at this, simultaneously.  
  
A second person cleared his throat, and the two boys looked up at a grimacing Professor Snape. Good evening, he said icily, striding up the aisle of desks to the back of the room where he pointed to a table full of clear vials of messy, brown fluid from a class earlier today. Mr. Weasley, you will be scrubbing all of these until they're completely spotless. Ron sighed with frustration, realizing how that would take a very long time to do. Snape continued, flipping through a potions book as he spoke. Mr. Malfoy, I would like you to make a sample potion of this, so I may use it for the first year class tomorrow.   
  
He brought the open book closer to Draco so he could look at it. Draco sighed, but with relief instead of frustration like his rival. It was a simple elixir to prolong the time until one who's drinking becomes intoxicated. He'd made this one about five times already in the past, mainly during the times he and his friends would go out with the intention of getting sloshed. Draco, being the smart one, would let all his cronies get completely drunk, while he, having taken the potion beforehand, would only feel a little tipsy, so he could be in charge and make sure he didn't wind up sleeping with Pansy or someone as dreadful as that afterwards.  
  
Not that Draco would tell his professor that, even though it was quite an impressive thing to say. He simply shrugged, taking the heavy book and studying it, as Snape set out the needed materials for him.  
  
When Snape finished handing Draco the supplies, he questioned calmly, I'm confident I can trust you to get this exactly right, Mr. Malfoy?  
  
Of course, Professor. Draco grinned. This was going to be the easiest detention ever.  
  
  
A half hour later, Ron had successfully cleaned forty out of two-hundred vials with muggle soap and a scrubbing brush. He was already exhausted, and he glanced over at Malfoy, who was, without breaking a sweat, gently adding crushed crocus into his boiling cauldron.  
  
Ron sighed. How could Snape give you something a thousand times easier to do than he gave me? he wondered aloud.  
  
Draco smirked slightly, and answered, Because I'm an intelligent Slytherin, and he hates you.  
  
Ron muttered, drying the forty-first vile on a dish towel.  
  
There was a moment of silence, but Draco wanted them to keep talking, for some reason, so he commented loudly, That was a wicked fight we had today.  
  
Ron admitted. This is brutal, but the fight was really good, before we got caught.  
  
Draco smiled bigger, and started dicing up parsley. Well, I would've beat you, if we'd have continued.  
  
Oh, don't be so big-headed, Malfoy, Ron argued, turning to look at the Slytherin. I had my hands clamped around your throat.  
  
Right, and it didn't even leave a mark, Draco retorted, though his nose still hurt a lot from being punched. He hadn't yet checked with Madame Pomfrey to see if it was broken. How's the bruise on your face, by the way?  
  
Oh, piss off, Ferret-head! Ron snapped irritably. Draco knew, with satisfaction, he'd just grilled up a bit of Ron's pride. Ron exhaled loudly, then dried his hands on the towel.   
  
Draco stopped dicing and whirled around at the serious tone in Ron's voice.  
  
I think, Ron hesitated, took a deep breath and said, I think we should stop trying to get back at each other like this, or one of us will get severely hurt.  
  
You mean you will. Malfoy's lips quirked upward. He stepped a little closer to the redhead, not even realizing that he still had a cutting knife in his hand. What? You scared, Weasley?  
  
Yeah, right. Ron grimaced. You're the one that ought to be scared, because I have an idea to end this fight, and you're going to lose on it.  
  
Draco's eyebrows twitched, and he moved so he was leaning against the desk next to Ron. Okay. Tell me what it is.  
  
Ron began cleaning another vile as he explained. You know about the Quittich game coming up on Saturday? Draco nodded. Well, I am going to make a bet- a final bet, and the loser will have to be the winner's personal, willing servant over Christmas Holiday, at the winner's house, doing everything the winner asks.  
  
Draco grinned, thinking of all the things he could make Weasley do. Clean his room. Make his dinner. Clean after the stags and fire-breathing horses and miniature dragons in the stables. Make his breakfast. Dress him. Undress him. Give him h- Draco shook his head frantically, trying to throw away his last few thoughts. Ron looked at him, confused.  
  
I like it, Draco decided aloud. What are we betting on?  
  
Ron smiled slightly and stopped cleaning.   
  
Draco was immediately about to say , but Ron cut him off.  
  
And Harry.  
  
Draco smirked as very inappropriate thoughts flooded through his mind, and he had to fight down the urge to comment about a threesome with Potter. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.   
  
Ron turned to face his rival and explained, You're both the seekers going against each other in the upcoming match. So, I'm betting that Harry's going to get the snitch, and I assume you bet otherwise.  
  
You assume correctly.  
  
Ron continued, So if you get the snitch, I'll do whatever you want for a whole holiday. And if Harry gets it, you'll do whatever I want. And we won't try to get back at each other anymore. He finally looked up and met Malfoy's eyes. He slowly extended his hand.  
  
Draco glanced down at the rough hand held out to him, then back up into the bright blue eyes that gazed back at him with anticipation. He had to win this bet. Even if he couldn't make Ron like him, he still had to make him his, at least for those two holiday weeks. he agreed, and unsurely reached out his hand to shake Ron's. He watched as their fingers touched, and involuntarily shivered at the sudden warmth that clasped around his cool skin. Ron beamed, then stepped back.  
  
I thought so, Ron said calmly, And the odds are in your favour since you're the one you're betting on. As soon as the words left Ron's mouth, he honestly didn't know what he meant by that statement.  
  
Draco grinned. Just don't forget that **_you_** made the bet, Weasley.  
  
And they finished carrying out their detention without another word to each other.  
  
  
  
A word from the author: 'Ey! Just got in from my first day of prep school, and thought I'd add on with this new chapter. Now things really start to smolder! hehe. How does it look? Oh, by the way- I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Mrs. Rowling. But you knew that, of course. *smirks* Rock it up!  
  
Delicious love, Ebony L


	4. A Grueling Quidditch Match

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: The Cranberries: Ode To My Family  
Chapter Four: A Grueling Quittich Match  
  
  
  
Within the next three days, before the Quittich match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Draco Malfoy was practicing harder than ever to perfect his playing skills. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to get the snitch first, even during the previous times when he'd been playing against the High and Mighty Potter. He knew he had to win this match. If he didn't get the snitch first, he'd be only described as completely buggered'.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
Ron Weasley went to his friend two nights before the Quittich match and pleaded with him.  
  
Ron, I've never seen you so desperate for me to beat Malfoy before, Harry observed from his four-poster bed, popping a chocolate frog into his mouth.  
  
But, Harry, this is really important, Ron answered with great desperation in his voice. And without Wood here, Gryffindor doesn't try nearly hard enough to practice. You've got to work harder at it so you can clobber Malfoy!  
  
You mean, clobber Slytherin', right?   
  
Ron suddenly realized he was pacing, stopped abruptly, and whipped around to face his friend. Please, Harry, please practice as much as you can. You have to get the snitch before Malfoy touches it.  
  
But why?! Harry questioned loudly, starting to feel frustrated with Ron's bantering.  
  
Ron paused; his face turned pink. I.....can't explain. I just need you to win. Okay?  
  
Harry sighed and slid off his bed, putting his hands on the redhead's shoulders. Look, I'll do the best I can. I don't know what's going on with you, but I promise I'll try the hardest I can.  
  
Thank you, Ron exhaled with relief, then he smiled nonchalantly and moved to pull away. But then Harry did something rather unexpected. He gripped Ron's fingers in his own, and pulled his friend violently closer to him, causing the two boys to collide, body smacked against body, lips pressed against lips.  
  
It was over in two seconds because Ron wrenched himself away, wide-eyed, stumbling back against his school trunk. he whispered, unable to say anything else due to the jolt of confusion that buzzed through his brain.  
  
Harry's face was scarlet, and he backed away quickly, looking at his feet. he mumbled, it seemed like the right thing to do.  
  
Ron's eyes were still wide with shock as he ran a shaking hand through his messy hair, and replied unsteadily, It's okay! It's fine, but I just need to, er, sleep now. He wobbled over to his bed and pulled the curtains closed around him, too stunned to think.  
  
He laid down and drew the bedsheets up to his chest, trying to calm down. What the hell just happened?! He was asking Harry to help him one moment, and the next, his best friend was kissing him- hard! On the lips! He could hear Harry slipping into his pajamas, and the candle next to Harry's bed was blown out not long after. Ron sighed. What was going on?! Why did that happen?! WHY ON EARTH did this whole thing with Malfoy happen?! Oh, right. Ron made the bet with him. Fuck. Ron didn't know what to do. He only had a feeling in the pit of his stomach, that this next match was not going to go very well.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
Saturday arrived at last, and Draco felt that he couldn't be more ready. He'd been practicing day and night, thinking during classes about strategies to avoid bludgers, and he'd also recently noticed a slight distance forming between Weasley and Potter. That gave him enough confidence.  
  
Draco thought about all of this as he fastened his silver and green robes over his sweater and black jacket. He slipped black gloves onto his fingers and a forest green scarf around his neck to protect him from the bitter cold, fingered the label on his treasured Nimbus 2001, then swiftly followed his teammates out into the harsh winds. Onto the large Quittich field. To face his most important challenge. Oh, yeah. He was going to win this. He had to.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
Ron watched eagerly from the stands as the players took their positions. The Gryffindor wrapped his red, homemade scarf tighter around his neck and rubbed his hands furiously in the cold. Hermione sat beside him wearing two Hogworts sweaters, a blue winter coat, a pair of denim trousers, leg warmers, pink mittens and a pair of ear muffs, and yet she was shivering harder still.  
  
Everyone gazed intently as Madame Hooch blew her whistle and the game began with a howl from the Slytherins, and a loud _swish_ of brooms soaring through the air. Ron didn't care about who was in possession of the Quaffle, though. His eyes were only focusing on two people: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
Draco squinted around the gray sky as the wind whipped against his face, turning his nose and cheeks a light pink colour. Where was it? Where was that snitch? Twenty minutes had gone by, and Gryffindor was already ahead by fifty points. All the blonde could see below him was a swarm of opposite coloured robes flashing past each other, and Harry Potter was no where in his sight.  
  
But then.....  
  
A blur of red and gold whizzed past him, and he could just see his opponent off in the distance, speeding away from him. He quickly followed, feeling the wind sting his face as he accelerated. Finally, he caught up to Potter, who had abruptly stopped and was now scanning around the field with big eyes.  
  
Draco sneered and shouted over the howling wind, Lost something, Potter? Perhaps your brain?  
  
Harry swerved around and looked at Malfoy with a dangerous expression. Save it, Malfoy, he barked. We'll see who's lost his brain when I catch the snitch before you can even see it.  
  
Oh, yeah? Malfoy's eyes narrowed; he was ready for a fight. Then, out of the corner of his left eye, he saw a flash of gold beside the Gryffindor viewer's box, and it didn't take him a half a second to figure out what it was. He awkwardly swooped to the left and flew at it, full force.  
  
It was when he was within twenty feet of it that he saw Weasley, holding up the shiny object and waving it at him. It wasn't the snitch! It was a GOLD GALLEON! Draco's stomach lurched with anger, and he growled, The redhead grinned evilly up at him, tucking the galleon back into his tattered, brown jacket pocket.  
  
Gryffindor is ahead by SIXTY POINTS!  
  
Draco snarled venomously, and turned back to look at Potter, who was still gazing carefully around the field. Then instantly, his eyes rested on a glimmering, gold object, lazily soaring out of a cloud to his right. he exclaimed, speeding at it, against the wind. His face felt numb by now as he neared the object he wanted so desperately to get. There was a swish of robes, and he could hear Potter yelling not far behind him.   
  
As if the snitch had eyes, it seemed to notice Draco's approach and sped up, spiraling back into the cloud. Without giving a second thought, Draco followed it in, and the mist hit his face like a glass of ice water. Every nerve in his body froze, and his eyes watered from looking through the mist. But the glimmer of gold was still there, just out of his reach, and he followed it with determination until he suddenly came out of the cloud and the swirling haze clear, leaving him a bit dizzy.  
  
And just as his mind began to clear again, a hard object smashed against his side, and he glanced over with surprise at a very wet, eyes narrowed Potter, who was pushing hard against him, trying to throw him off course. But Draco pushed back, so hard, in fact that his shoulders ached miserably, and his eyes were still glued to the whizzing golden snitch, always a few mere feet in front of him.  
  
Draco felt his arm start to go weak from the pressure and cold, and he knew he couldn't take this any longer, or his arm would snap. He gripped his broom tightly and yelled, , causing it to lurch ahead of Harry's broom; Draco suddenly felt dizzy again as the pressure suddenly disappeared, and he no longer had anything to lean against. He drunkenly slipped over the side of his Nimbus 2001, and felt the world spin violently as his heart stopped for an instant, and his legs reflexively hooked around the underside of his broom. He was upside down, in a whirl of gray and white and frozen cold.   
  
And something collided with the fingers of his right hand- a hard object that made his finger muscles ache with agony. He gripped the tiny object, trying to see what it was as his eyes were still rattling with dizziness. And a loud cry arose from the judging box below him:  
  
MALFOY NABBED THE SNITCH! DRACO MALFOY HAS JUST CAUGHT THE SNITCH!  
  
There were cheers and yells of protest, but Draco didn't hear anything as he floated down to the ground, his legs still locked around his Nimbus 2001. When his body gently touched down, he let go, dropped the snitch onto the field beside him, and closed his eyes with relief.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
Ron was gripping the railing so hard that his knuckles had turned white. His stomach bubbled up with fury as he watched the blonde Slytherin lying there on the ground, with the snitch limply in his fingers. he hollered, burying his face in his hands. This was awful! How could Malfoy win?! Harry was so close! No No No No NO! Fuck! Bugger! Shit! God DAMNIT!!!!!  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
Every bit of Draco's body was in pain. His robes were drenched with sweat and cloud matter. His eyesight was blurry. His arms ached horribly. And pieces of messy, blonde hair stuck frozen to his face. But he didn't care. He'd won. That's all that mattered. Weasley was his now, for two whole weeks! His! All his! Holy Fuck! He couldn't believe that he'd actually won!!!  
  
  
A word from the author: Dun Dun Dun! Oh, yes! This bit was very suspenseful, wasn't it? First Ron gets unexpectedly kissed by his best friend, then Malfoy gets the snitch and wins! Looks like the next scene ought to be at Malfoy Manor. Muahahahaha....... Okay. I'm quite done. haha. What are your thoughts on this? Write a review, and feel free to email me if you'd like. My emails are elvenwindstorm@hotmail.com, AND vanima_ebony@hotmail.com. Pick your poison. hehe.  
  
Delicious love, Ebony L


	5. The Malfoy Manor

  
  
  
Two days later, Winter Holiday began. It had taken a reluctant letter to his family that informed them of his stay at the Malfoys', two hours of carefully packing his trunk, six minutes of trying to stuff Pigwidgeon into his cage as the little owl hooted with protest, and a long, five-hour train ride in silence to get Ron Weasley to the front gates of Draco Malfoy's home.  
  
By now, Ron was more subdued about losing, but he still felt like oil was churning in his stomach when he thought, with dread, about what Malfoy was going to make him do. As he and Draco stepped out of the black cab, which had magically appeared out of nowhere for them back at the train station, Ron couldn't help but notice that Draco, with all his pride and dignity, was looking a little nervous. And for the first time since before the train ride, Ron spoke to him. Are you okay, Mate?  
  
Draco shrugged. I'm fine, he replied, though he didn't feel that way. Indeed, it was great beating Ron and having him come to his house for the holidays, but at the same time, the Slytherin wasn't positive that his father would let a guest of Draco's into the manor without question- especially if that guest were a Weasley. It was a fifty/fifty chance really, and Draco had also purposely neglected to send a letter, letting his parents know Weasley was coming. So, no. Draco certainly was _not_ fine, but he couldn't let Weasley know this.   
  
As they trekked up a steep, stone walkway to the front gates, Ron gazed around the property. To his left and right, there were massive, dark forests that didn't look very inviting, and behind him, storm clouds loomed dangerously above the gray road. He tried to look ahead, peering through the tall, black, metal bars of the gates, but a thick cover of fog hid everything beyond them from view.  
  
Draco grimaced as he pulled out his wand and tapped a statue of a silver lion in the middle of the bars impatiently. Slowly, the lion's head lifted to look up at the blonde, who stood in front of a gaping redhead. It's mouth squeaked as it opened, and a low rumble of a voice came from it, Name and Password?  
  
Draco replied in an almost bored voice. Draco Ignis Malfoy, and it's   
  
The lion nodded it's silver head very slowly, and greeted deeply, Afternoon, Draco. Good to have you home.   
  
Without another word, the lion fell back into it's frozen position, and the gates were flew open.  
  
Draco turned back to Ron and beckoned him to follow him. Come on. He only waits ten seconds. Hearing this, Ron quickly followed Draco through the gates, still stunned by the talking gate-lion statue. As they continued to walk, now into a misty fog, they could here a _clang_ of gates closing, and again, Ron was surprised as the thick fog instantly cleared, and he blinked around, taking in his now visible surroundings.  
  
He found that he was standing in the middle of an enormous garden, full of of white roses and tall hedges that had been clipped and sculpted to look like people dancing with each other. Everything on the property seemed completely untouched by winter, and the snow that came with it, and the air was only slightly cool.  
  
Seeing Ron's expression, Draco explained, My mother is obsessed with gardens. She spends three hours a day planting and trimming. My father hates it. He says it's not proper for a Malfoy to work in the sun. But for some reason, it keeps her happy.  
  
Ron turned back to him. What happened to the fog?  
  
Draco smirked. How could Weasley be so dense about these magical devices? He _was_ a wizard, right? It's for privacy. A muggle on the outside couldn't spy on us because there's a wall of fog, and even if they got inside, they'd be detected by our guard lion on the gate, and he controls where the wall of fog goes. See? He pointed behind them, and Ron could see a sheet of heavy fog back by the gate. Draco's eyes lit up as they walked up a small hill through the gardens. One time when I was six, this stupid muggle followed my father in, and the lion detected it, so he moved the mist right overtop of the dumb kid, and he stumbled around in it all night, until finally he left back through the gate, and we haven't seen him around here since. He barked a laugh at his own story, then suddenly realized Ron wasn't finding it humorous at all. He immediately stopped chuckling, then threw out a quick, Oh, right. You actually _like_ muggles.  
  
They continued to walk in silence through the white and green garden, and as they reached the top of the hill, Ron's jaw dropped. He'd seen big houses before, but **_this_** must've compared to more than a third of Hogworts! A great, stone mansion with three stories and two, tall towers stood proudly before him. It looked old, judging by the castle-like style of the house, but all of the stones were neatly in tact and not weathering like one would expect. From each tower hung a dark green flag with two, entwining, silver serpents on it, and a gold plack above the large, oak front doors read in bold letters **Malfoy Manor**.   
  
Ron breathed, staring from tower to tower.  
  
Like it? Draco asked, smiling smugly. It's a bit gloomy to me, but it's good enough to call   
  
You live in a castle, Ron mused, still amazed.  
  
Not a castle. It's just a manor, Weasley. There are loads of them in this part of England. Draco motioned for Ron to follow him again, and added over his shoulder, Wait until you see the rooms.  
  
Draco once again tapped his wand repeatedly, this time on the crack in between the massive oak doors that towered above them. Ron figured he'd faint if the door started talking too, but instead, it weakly swung open, and Draco pulled the Gryffindor inside. The blonde hastily pushed Ron into a darker corner of the large foyer, and said softly, Wait here.  
  
Ron did as he was told, but continued to gaze intently, taking in everything he saw in the front hall. The foyer alone was large, with royal blue and gray floor tiles, a large, gold chandelier, a cherrywood table with a small statue of a glass dolphin on it, a cherrywood door on the left and right walls, and a giant staircase with a golden banister and rich, green carpet, leading loftily up to the next floor. This one room probably cost more than the entire Weasley house!  
  
said a small, nasally female voice from above. Suddenly, a slender figure descended on the stairs, hurrying toward Draco with her silver hair flying behind her. Narcissa Malfoy wore a delighted expression on her face as she hugged the blonde boy tightly to her. Oh, Draco, we missed you so much. How was school, my Darling? She pulled away quickly to let her son speak.  
  
It was fine, Mum. Not very eventful, Draco answered, and Ron snorted at this from his place in the corner. Not very eventful? Well, then what did he call all their competing over the last week?!  
  
Hearing a sound of mocking coming from the corner, Narcissa and Draco turned to look at Ron. Narcissa exclaimed. Is that a friend of yours, Draco?  
  
Yes, Mother. This is Ron Weasley, and he'll be spending Yule with me, if that's all right. Draco beckoned a hand at Ron, and the redhead timidly stepped out of the shadows and stood beside Draco.  
  
Ron used this opportunity to take a good look at Narcissa. He'd seen her in public more than once, and she always wore slinky black dresses and a stony expression. But now, to his surprise, she was wearing a tight pair of velvet, leopard-spotted trousers and a matching, sleeveless shirt. Her skin was unnaturally pale, much like Draco's, and her silvery blonde hair, which would usually be in a tight bun in public, now hung long and loose down her back. She looked as content as a little child picking out a teddy bear at the store, and her blue eyes seemed to twinkle like stars do.  
  
Without a second thought, Narcissa smiled broadly and answered gently, Of course! Hello, Ron Weasley. She extended a small hand that had two jeweled rings on it. Ron, still not believing that this usually mean-looking lady could act so nice to him, uncertainly shook her hand, and noticed that her fingers felt very cold. When she let go of his hand, she added a light, Nice to meet you.  
  
Draco, who was feeling a little impatient, cleared his throat so Narcissa would look at him. Mother, I'd like Ron to be stay in the room across the hall from mine.  
  
Narcissa straightened up in a business-like manner, and agreed, Of course. That would be the River Room, now wouldn't it? She didn't even wait for Draco's nod before she continued briskly, Well, I'll go make sure your parcels are sent up there, Ron. And I'll ask the House Elves to prepare another place in our dining room. She turned back to Draco again, and added merrily, It's so wonderful to have you home, Darling, before swiftly striding through one of the cherry doors.  
  
Ron glanced at Draco, completely baffled by all that just happened. Draco smiled. She loves having guests stay at the Manor. Now, I fear, she's on autopilot. Ron chuckled at Draco's small joke, and the blonde asked invitingly, Would you like a tour?  
  
For the next half-hour, Ron saw the extravagant dining room, parlor, lounge, study, recreation room (which, to Ron's delight, contained a private bar and pool table), and enormous library, and that was only the first floor! Draco had neglected to show him the kitchen.  
  
It's where the House Elves work, and I haven't even seen it before, the Slytherin explained.  
  
On the next floor, there was a second lounge, seven, small suites for guests (each having its own mini-bar and bathroom), and the servants' quarters, where the House Elves slept. Ron hadn't seen the servant's quarters either, which were placed behind a large portrait of a pointy-faced witch with gray hair.  
  
That's my great aunt, Esmerelda Malfoy. Thank Gods she's dead.  
  
The third floor was Draco's favourite. It had a few guest rooms, a smaller library, and, of course, Draco's room. Draco said triumphantly, pushing a light, door of maplewood open, and the two boys stepped inside.  
  
Ron's jaw nearly dropped as he looked around. Beautiful was the only word to describe this room. There were windows that stood as tall as the door, and a rich, green carpet with leaf patterns all over it. There was a massive closet with white, open, French doors, showing Draco's enormous wardrobe. On the left of the room, there was a comfy chair and desk, with a big hole in the side of it.  
  
What's with the hole in your desk? Ron questioned, confused.  
  
Draco smirked proudly. What's your favourite sweet?  
  
Ron gave the blonde a funny, puzzled look, and replied, Erm....chocolate frogs.  
  
Draco smiled bigger, then padded over to the desk, sat down in the chair and said very clearly, Two chocolate frogs. The second he'd said the last word, there was a _woosh_, and without warning, two chocolate frog packages came shooting out of the hole and landed in a pewter dish on the floor. Draco snatched up the sweets and tossed them to Weasley, who was looking absolutely amazed. It does cost a bit, Draco told him, getting up from the chair, but I love it to death.  
  
When Ron finally managed to stop gazing at the chocolate frogs in his hand, his focus rested on a tall mirror with a golden frame on the wall, and a large bed with dark green, satin sheets, and black, satin pillows with the initials **DIM** marked into them. Ron would've laughed at the letters, and told Draco that his initials were a good adjective for him, but he was too busy thinking about all the girls Malfoy must've fucked on a bed like that. And the thought made something tingle in him, thinking about Malfoy having hot, passionate sex on that bed. He quickly shook his head to get rid of those wicked thoughts, and suddenly noticed another door, on the same wall as the windows.  
  
Do you have a balcony? Ron asked hopefully, turning back to look at Draco.  
  
Draco shook his head. It's something better though. He strode over to the door and held it open for Ron, revealing a long spiral of stone steps. Ron licked his lips greedily as Draco led him up the staircase. Ron tried to count the steps as they went, and surmised that there were about fifty before they reached the top. Light poured in through the castle-like windows, and Ron could see the green and white garden far below him. He was in one of the towers!   
  
the redhead breathed, gazing at everything in the small, round room. Against the opposite wall, there were Quittich posters, several broom-care kits, and Draco's infamous Nimbus 2001, which had somehow been transported up here since they'd arrived. But the one thing that caught Ron's attention most was a thin easel up against the window. It was covered in a silk sheet, hiding whatever painting was under it from view. Ron moved to lift the sheet, but he suddenly felt a hand clasp around his outstretched wrist. He stared up at Draco with surprise, and the blonde looked as though he was about to have a heart attack. His eyes were large and frightened, and his grip on Ron's arm was getting steadily tighter.  
  
Don't look at that, Draco hissed, saying each word slowly and clearly.  
  
Ron squeaked, startled by Draco's wrath.  
  
There was an awkward pause, and Draco looked down at his own hand in surprise. By gods, he was hurting Ron! He quickly let go and turned toward the staircase. Let me show you your room, Weasley, he said more gently.  
  
Ron nodded, and they swiftly left the tower, and Draco's room, then Draco brought them across the hall, to another maple door. Sorry I couldn't give you the room with the other tower. That one belongs to my parents. Whenever my father is home, he spends all his time up in the tower, working or something of the sort, Draco explained softly as he tapped his wand against the door, and then said quietly, New password: Ron Weasley. The door swung open by Draco's silent command. Draco faced Ron and added, All you must do is say your name if you wish to enter in here. Ron bobbed his head appreciatively, and followed his rival inside.  
  
The room was almost as big as Draco's and Ron instantly understood why it was called the River Room. For in each corner, a tall, porcelain fountain stood with heavy sheets of water flowing from it. The walls were decorated with a beautiful scene of ocean waves, and in the center of the room, a small stream appeared to magically flow from wall to wall.  
  
Don't worry. It's not actually water, Draco told him. It's like a hologram, and if you happen to step through it, your feet won't get wet.  
  
Ron nodded, and his eyes fell upon his bed. It was just as big as Draco's, and it had dark blue, silk sheets, and matching pillows. Little pictures of serpents were embroidered into them, and stalks of clover and goldenrod were hung on each bedpost. Ron wasn't sure what Malfoy would do if the Gryffindor jumped excitedly onto the massive bed, but didn't give it much thought as he went ahead and did it anyway.  
  
Draco watched, amused as Ron flung himself upon the sheets, hollering with delight. When Ron yelled out, Oh, fucking yes! Draco couldn't stop himself from laughing, and also couldn't help the very perverted thoughts that entered his mind.  
  
Shut up, you git! My mother's going to hear you and think you're being buggered, _By me, right now_ Draco decided not to add.   
  
Ron giggled, figuring he ought to praise whatever diety made him lose the bet so he could be sent here. Then he sat up and asked curiously, Do I have my own bathroom?  
  
Draco smirked. Yes and no. The bathroom that is meant to go with this room is yours, but it's also the bathroom _I_ use every day. Ron scowled at this, but when Draco pushed open the door that connected to his room, the redhead gasped.  
  
It was bigger than his bedroom back at home! Everything was made of gold and blue tiles, and the bathtub was not much smaller than Draco's bed! There were seven different taps that looked like serpent heads: for water, soap, shampoo, and conditioner, and the other three were raspberry, lemon, and vanilla flavoured bubble bath that you could really eat!  
  
Once again, thoughts of Draco came into his mind; thoughts of a naked Draco, with several naked girls all around him soaping up his pale and well-muscled chest; thoughts of Draco being soaped up by several naked _boys_, for Fuck's sake! Ron felt a similar tingle in his belly as the one he'd felt before, thinking about Draco's bed. Realizing that Draco was watching him, Ron blushed heavily, and he stabbed those inappropriate thoughts with imaginary daggers.  
  
Draco gestured around the room. Well, that concludes the tour of the inside. I'll show you the menagerie and stables tomorrow. But from what you saw already, what do you think?  
  
Ron thought back to all the other rooms he'd seen with contentment. I can't believe you live here. Draco raised an eyebrow at this. Ron quickly added defensively, I mean, I can believe you live here, because you're Malfoy and well, er, I just can't... Ron trailed off instantly because Draco started to laugh, shaking his head. Ron cleared his throat, feeling sheepish. All and all, I think it's cool.  
  
Draco answered, still grinning. He hadn't had much to really laugh at in a long time, but he was finding that Weasley was rather cute at times, and he couldn't help smiling at least.   
  
There was an awkward pause as they stared at each other, neither knowing what to say. Draco's eyes intently focused on Ron's, and Ron felt a strange feeling run through him. He didn't know what it was, and he didn't really want to find out, so he dropped his gaze, and Draco said quickly:  
  
Well, I'll leave you to unpack. My father will be home soon, I suppose, and dinner is in a half-hour. Dress in school robes if you want. It's not meant to be formal. With that said, the Slytherin hastily left, and Ron, still a little confused, was pleased to find his trunk on his bed, and Pigwidgeon in his cage on the oak bedside table when the Gryffindor reentered his room.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
Draco wiped the scarlet-orange paint off his fingers and onto his blue work shirt. It was getting colder as sunlight was quickly surrendering to the night outside the tower window. Draco shivered a little as he whispered a cleaning charm to his paint brush, and admired the almost-finished product on the easel in front of him. The eyes were almost the right shade of blue, and the hair was a perfect red colour. When he had another moment to spare, he'd add light brown freckles, and complete his work of art; his portrait; his obsession that kept entering his dreams each night.  
  
He gazed down at his watch through the dim lantern's light. He had five minutes until dinner. Oh, shit. Draco hastily threw off his work shirt and hurried down the stone steps, briefly checked himself over in the giant mirror next to his bed, and scuttled downstairs into the foyer.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
At half-five, Ron slowly made his way down the green carpeted stairs, holding onto the beautiful banister with a loose grip as he went. When he reached the second stairway, leading down to the ground floor foyer, he looked up, only to see a blonde Slytherin pacing back and forth and muttering to himself. It wasn't until Ron had reached the foot of the stairs that Draco finally noticed him, and stopped pacing rather abruptly.  
  
Hi, Malfoy, Ron said softly.  
  
Hi, Weasley, Draco replied, looking Ron over carefully. The redhead was only in his school robes, as Draco had requested, but damn! He looked gorgeous! _Doesn't he always?_ said a small voice in the back of his head. Draco smiled, and motioned toward the large door on the right wall. he said simply.  
  
  
  
The two boys walked through the door, and Ron was instantly greeted with one of the most beautiful rooms in the house. There were five, giant chandeliers on the ceiling, and a massive table with a green, satin table cloth with fine silverware and cushy, red chairs all around it. On two facing walls, large fireplaces crackled with chartreuse flames, as if having a war with each other. Narcissa sat very tall in her chair at the foot of the table, wearing the more familiar, black dress and pinned up hair. And, to Ron's dismay, at the head of the table sat a stony-faced Lucius Malfoy.  
  
Hello, Father. Mother, Draco greeted before taking a seat toward the center of the table, and he motioned for Ron to sit across from him.  
  
his father acknowledged in a cool, steely voice. I see, we have a guest for the Winter Holiday. His intense, silver eyes seemed to give Ron a once-over, then he turned his suspicious gaze to Draco.  
  
Draco answered, nodding as confidently as he could. This is Ron Weasley, Father. My guest. He emphasized the last words very clearly, hoping that the message would get across all right.  
  
But Lucius said nothing more about Ron's presence, and made a wave with his hand. Instantly, trays of potatoes, string beans and ham appeared between everyone's fork and knife, and a silver goblet of some sort of red drink appeared next to Ron's plate, surprising him. He looked at Draco questioningly, and the blonde mouthed, Red Wine, then took a sip from his own goblet. Ron stared at his cup, horrified, for he'd never been offered a real drink before, and he'd only tasted wine once- at the wedding for his cousin. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the goblet to his lips and tasted it. Certainly, it was bitter, but there was something sweet and mind-numbing about it. Ron licked his lips.  
  
Narcissa looked up from her food and inquired sweetly, So, how was your last Quittich match, Draco?  
  
Oh, it was really good, Draco answered, then pretended not to notice the sneer Ron sent at him from across the table.  
  
Lucius drawled. I heard it was your most determined play yet. Such a shame I had to miss it and be in one of my meetings.  
  
One of his Death Eater gatherings, he meant. Draco scowled and his throat felt dry as he shoveled a forkful of ham into his mouth. He suddenly didn't feel all that hungry.  
  
The rest of the meal was silent, and when Ron had completely finished his wine and food, and Draco had emptied his wine goblet and barely touched his food, Draco stood, beckoning Ron to do the same. They left the dining room in silence, and it was only when they reached the top of the first staircase that Ron started laughing.  
  
Draco's lips quirked upward at the sound of the Gryffindor's laughter, and questioned, What? What's so funny?  
  
Ron grinned contentedly and cried, That was the first time I ever had a full glass of wine.  
  
Draco's eyes widened and he smirked. Are you serious? Merlin, your awfully innocent, aren't you? I'll bet you've never even had sex.  
  
Oh, piss off, Malfoy, Ron retorted as they climbed the second staircase. And you have? He stopped talking in an instant, as the same thoughts of a very naked Draco entered his mind again.  
  
Draco said honestly, I haven't yet, but I've come very close.  
  
Oh, yeah? With who? Ron wanted to know.  
  
None of your fucking business, Weasel, Draco replied, and by now they'd neared their bedroom doors and they stopped walking. Draco said more seriously, Okay. Go to bed. Tomorrow is when I'll make you start doing stuff like taking care of the creatures in the menagerie. So, you'd better sleep. I hope everything is comfortable for you.  
  
Ron nodded. Thanks. Good night, Malfoy. He walked up to his door, said his own name clearly to make it open, then slipped behind it without a backward glance.  
  
Draco sighed and entered his own room. He waited for a moment, poised like a cat, listening for sounds of anyone passing by his room, then, hearing none, he went to his tall mirror and said softly, Jolly good. Immediately, a small female voice sounded from somewhere in the mirror:  
  
Hello, Draco. Welcome to your diary. If you'd like to make a new entry, you can do so- now.  
  
Draco sighed, as he usually did to begin a diary entry. Well, I'm happy. Really happy, because I won the bet with Weasley, and now he's here. In my own, bloody house! He's likely just going to sleep right now, in the room across the hall. Draco thought for a brief moment, then continued talking, running a hand through his platinum locks. I, er, don't really know what I'm supposed to make him do tomorrow, as my servant. Honestly, all I want to do is kiss him. And every time I see him, it only gets more intense. But I still have my doubts that this will work. I can only hope to Merlin that something good comes out of him being here. Anyway, I'm home, and I'm going to bed. Good night. With that, he stepped away from the mirror, which said its usual:  
  
Thank you, Draco. The mirror instantly shut down after that, and Draco gave it a nod before moving to press his ear against the maple door. He could hear no noise out in the hall, but still thought he heard the faint rustle of someone sliding into his bed sheets in the room across from his.  
  
Good night, Ron, he said quietly, then peeled off his robes and denim trousers, leaving him in just red boxers and a black tee shirt. As he made his way over to his giant bed, there was a _snap_, and his father suddenly appeared, sitting on the edge of the bed before him.  
  
Lucius Malfoy stood swiftly in front of Draco, and without warning, smacked the boy right across the face. Draco flinched in searing pain and stepped back as Lucius shouted, What is muggle-loving Arthur Weasley's son doing in MY HOUSE?!  
  
Trying to regain composure, Draco answered shakily, We made a bet, okay? He lost, and now he's my servant for all of Winter Holiday. He's here to do everything I want.  
  
Lucius' eyes narrowed, and he questioned in a softer, more venom-filled voice, So, why then, is a servant sleeping in the River Room?  
  
So he can be at my beck and call, Draco replied. He'd already planned out this conversation and was carrying it out with much finesse. He's not a House Elf, Father. Really.  
  
Lucius seemed to ponder this over for a moment, then asked, What are you making him do exactly?  
  
Starting to-morrow, everything I ask him to do. I'm having him work with the dragons in the menagerie so I don't have to do it, Draco said smoothly, never once breaking eye contact with his father.  
  
Lucius nodded slowly. All right, Draco. Weasley may stay here, but only as your servant. You would never befriend someone as shabby as a Weasley.  
  
Draco smirked. Wouldn't dream of it, Father. Weasley should be grateful because we have soap here. He barked out a laugh, and Lucius chuckled deeply.  
  
Good night, Draco.  
  
Good night, Father, Draco replied, and soon there was another _snap_, and Lucius was gone. Draco sighed, then quickly glanced over at his magical diary mirror to make sure it was completely shut off. He'd die on the spot if his father saw any of the entries Draco had made. He'd specifically put the password Jolly Good on it, because he knew neither of his parents would ever say anything remotely like Jolly Good. Ever. Therefore, neither of them could open the diary feature, and to them, it looked like just a plain and ordinary mirror. It was a feature Draco had read about two years ago in a charm book somewhere in the advanced reading section of the library- making an ordinary mirror become a secret diary. It was times like these that he was glad he'd bothered to put a password on it.  
  
Draco climbed into bed, flipped off the light, and drifted into a light sleep.  
  
  
A Word From The Author: HI! Sorry it took me so long to update but I have a nice, lengthy chapter for you here. Well, no, not much action happens, but come on- these guys can't just start snogging after a day in the Malfoy house! And, the Harry-kissing-Ron thing will be thoroughly explained later. No worries! Thanks for your reviews and such. Schooling is a killer!  
  
Delicious love, Ebony L


	6. A Slave In The Menagerie

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: Music from the Broadway play, Aida. Currently, the song is, My Strongest Suit  
Chapter Six: The Slave In The Menagerie  
  
  
Ron was striding through a long hallway, lit only by torches. His footfalls echoed lightly as he walked, and the air was laced with the scent of lavender and rose petals. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he felt a presence, slowly following him as he went.  
  
He turned the corner, and suddenly felt a pair of warm hands cover his eyes. Someone's face leaned intimately close to his ear, and whispered, Guess who? He could not recognize such a soft, sweet voice.  
  
Ron didn't struggle, but blindly questioned, Who are you? Who is this?  
  
He then felt the hands turning his head to face his captor, and before he could even blink, soft lips were kissing him, caressing his own lips. Ron didn't move, but let this mystery person brand desire into him with this one kiss.  
  
When the hands let go of his head and the unfamiliar lips left his, he could still feel the heat of the kiss tickling his mouth. He opened his eyes, and gazed at the person with surprise.  
  
  
  
Suddenly, Draco's silver eyes widened like small lamps in the torchlight. The blonde reached out and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. his voice echoed through the halls urgently.   
  
********  
  
Hey, Weasley! Wake up, you stupid git!   
  
Ron's eyelids flew apart, and he stared wildly around himself, expecting to see a torchlit corridor. Instead, his eyes focused on a small fountain in the corner of the room. He exhaled with disbelief. He was in the River Room, in a large bed with silky sheets. He'd only been dreaming.   
  
About Malfoy.  
  
said an impatient voice beside him. Ron whipped his head around to face a very perturbed Draco Malfoy, who was wearing a dark green bathrobe. His blonde hair looked dark and damp, and his face was flushed. Come on. You're my servant now. Get up and take a bath. You reek like owl shit.  
  
Ron scowled and retorted, Go fuck something, Malfoy. I'd get up if you'd get off my bed.  
  
With pleasure, Draco shot back, and he silently added in his mind, _I'd be more than happy to get off **on** your bed._ The blonde moved to the door and called, I'm going to dress for breakfast. I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes. Wear normal attire and **don't** be late. With a haughty swish of his robes (much like Snape's signature move), the Slytherin exited the most bright and sun-absorbing room in the manor. He didn't look back.  
  
Ron exhaled violently through his nose like a bull might do in a Spanish bullfight. Yesterday, Malfoy had almost been what could be classified as to him. He'd proudly shown him the beautiful house, almost always smiling genuinely; and now, Malfoy was back to treating him like yesterday's rubbish, only full-throttle this time.   
  
Ron sighed, feeling more confused than ever. He reluctantly crawled out of bed and fished a pair of ratty, denim trousers and an old tee shirt out of his trunk. He padded into the bathroom and began playing with the taps of the massive bathtub.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
Draco pawed through his wardrobe glumly. He wasn't in a very good mood. He **_had_** acted very mean and unmerciful to Ron back in the redhead's room, just as his father would've wanted him to be. But that was just the thing. He didn't want to be nasty to Ron at all! He hated fighting with him, but he also knew that if Lucius caught any hint that Draco might be too soft on the poor Muggle-lover, his father would deal with it- and not gently either.  
  
Oh, yes. Draco had been beaten many times by Lucius Malfoy. It was all for discipline, of course. Naturally, his father wouldn't have hit him once a week if Draco **_hadn't_** buggered up all the time. So, that was just it. He couldn't bugger up with Ron there, especially if his father was being this suspicious. He had to resume his I'm Better Than Everyone Else position for Lucius to keep his hands off him; and Ron, for that matter.  
  
Draco pulled on a pair of khaki-coloured slacks, a dark green tee shirt and black wind-breaker. By the looks of scenery outside his window, it was going to be a very blustery morning.  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Draco was in the dining room, at the head of the long table, reading the gossip column of the _Daily Prophet_. He looked up only when he heard a small squeak of the large door opening, and the forcibly calm face of Weasley bore into him through the newspaper's large pages.   
  
When Draco casually set the paper aside, he observed with slight sympathy that Ron was wearing a faded, gray tee shirt, and baggy, denim trousers that were fraying at the seams. His hair looked damp and it stuck out in all directions, and even though the redhead gave him a look that could shatter window glass, Draco thought Ron looked positively....well.....sexy, really.  
  
Snapping out of this reverie, the blonde emotionlessly tossed a blueberry scone to his supposed-to-be-nemesis. When Ron stared at him with a confused expression, Draco shot him a sarcastic smirk in return. Yes, we generally _eat_ those.   
  
Ron's face turned a small tint of pink, and he shot back angrily, I _know_ you eat those. What the bloody hell else do you do with them?! I'm just surprised that I'm allowed to eat now, since I am your _slave_.  
  
_Hmm, that sounds bloody good when he says it like that. My **slave**_****, Draco mused silently, but he simply replied, Well, if you'd rather starve-  
  
Weasley blurted suddenly, and Draco felt a small smile forming on his own lips.  
  
The Slytherin pointed to the chair beside his, and Ron quickly slid into it.  
  
They ate their breakfast in silence.  
  
  
  
At roughly half-ten, Draco led Ron out to the menagerie behind the house. Unlike everything else on the Malfoy property, this particular building looked noticeably simple, much like a stable that Muggles kept their ordinary horses in. It had tall, gray boards that looked as though they were ready to fall apart, and some of the windows were missing glass panes. Ron supposed that Lucius Malfoy didn't favor the animals all that much. As they got closer to the great structure, Ron shuddered against the cool wind, and hugged himself tightly.  
  
Draco pushed open the massive, creaky door, and Ron was greeted with a long, dark hall with large, bolted doors on either side of it. The boys didn't say a word to each other, and the only noise that could be heard was their soft footfalls on the stone floor tiles. Draco pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and tapped it against the lock of the third door on the left.  
  
_Tap Tap._ he said clearly. _Tap Tap._  
  
The door gave a groan as the lock undid itself, and slowly opened with a _squeak_ of protest. Ron nonchalantly moved toward the opening, but Draco held out an arm in front of him, blocking him from going inside.  
  
Brace yourself, the blonde warned. It's two, miniature Indian Red Dragons.  
  
Ron snorted. My brother, Charlie, works with dragons. I've helped him take care of at least ten different kinds, he said haughtily, then ducked under Draco's outstretched arm.  
  
When the Gryffindor entered the small, stone room, the first thing he saw was a pair of narrowed, silver eyes gazing suspiciously at him. A creature, who was just about as big as a twin-sized bed, with a bright scarlet, scaly back, stood protectively in front of another creature just like it. The second dragon was apparently asleep, and tendrils of white steam rhythmically shot from its sculpted nose. Ron, with all his previous experience with dragons, had never seen a dragon like either of these before, and he curiously looked back at Draco, who was standing amusedly in the doorframe.  
  
Odd-looking, aren't they? Draco mused, and Ron moved his head positively. the Slytherin continued. They don't breath fire or anything, but they leave a nasty wound if they bite you.  
  
What am I supposed to do with them? Ron asked, dreading the answer.  
  
Feed them, and play with them. Draco snatched a thick, black suit like one you'd use for fencing off a hook on the wall and tossed it to Ron. Put that on.  
  
Ron did as he was told, and as he zipped up the front of the massive clothing, he questioned, But Malfoy, if I'm supposed to feed them, where do I get the f-  
  
At this moment, Draco had muttered a small spell, and exited the room just as a pile of meat appeared at Ron's feet. Ron glanced at the meat, then looked up timidly at the two dragons, both now fully awake; both eying him playfully, like two cats cornering a mouse.  
  
Fuck, Malfoy! Ron bellowed, kicking the meat away from him, and the dragons leapt at it, tearing it to shreds with their long, jagged fangs. Ron backed up against a wall, terrified, and made a mental note to kill Malfoy when the holiday was over.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
On the other side of the wall, Draco had conjured a portal out of the the sturdy door, so he could watch Ron and the dragons without his enemy knowing it. This was so he could tell if Ron was in danger, and also, of course, just for Draco's personal enjoyment. Oh- how Weasley cowered with fear as the pretty harmless, well-trained beasts savagely devoured their meal! It was laughable, really.  
  
Not that Draco liked the dragons all that much. They had been a present from his father, when Draco was ten. The blonde boy believed that this gift was meant to be ironic, since Draco's name meant _dragon_, and Lucius knew how much Draco hated his own name. It was almost like an inside joke between them, except only his father thought it was funny. Just like the cruel, sick person that he could be sometimes.  
  
*******  
  
When Ron emerged from the room, a half-hour later, his black suit was ripped in places, for the mini-dragons seemed to enjoy playing the Let's Go Claw The Human To Death game. The Gryffindor was not in a very good mood, and he seemed sort of shaken up, so Draco decided to let Ron skip caring for the fire-breathing horses today, and clean up after the stags instead.  
  
Come on, Weasel, he called, beckoning the grimacing Gryffindor to follow him down the hallway. Take off the suit as you go. You should be pleased to know that you won't need it in here.  
  
Ron _was_ pleased, and very relieved. He clumsily struggled to get out of the thick garb as he walked behind his blonde nemesis. When they reached the door at the farthest end of the hall, Draco tapped it with his wand and murmured:  
  
Alba Currere. The lock on the door unlocked with a faint _click_. Hello, my friends, Draco called merrily as he opened the giant door, and revealed to Ron the friends' which the blonde addressed. Ron gazed, mouth agape, at three of the most beautiful snowy-white deer he'd ever seen in his life. Indeed, they could pass easily as an ordinary doe and two stags, but their coats were so bright and light-emanating that Ron knew right away that these were magical. Each of them blinked up at him with large, azure eyes.  
  
Draco knelt down beside the largest buck, who stared at the redheaded stranger with an inquisitive look. Weasley, this is Sage, the most intelligent stag you'll ever come across, Draco introduced with a look of excited bliss on his features. Draco nodded to the second stag. That is Apollo, a warrior from the Dark Forest; and she, Draco moved to the third deer, is Aphrodite. She's beautiful, isn't she?  
  
Ron nodded, quite taken by surprise by his rival's sudden enthusiasm toward his pets. His friends. Ron could hear the passion behind Draco's words, proving that this cold, unfeeling teenager actually loved something. Or was Ron just reading into it too far?  
  
Draco seemed to realize how his positive attitude must've sounded, and quickly tried to cover up his mistake. You'll be cleaning up their stall, then we'll take them outside to walk. Understood?  
  
Ron nodded, but he didn't feel as shot down by Draco's emotionless instructions. For he saw, out of the corner of his eye as he worked, the blonde boy stroking Sage's back with a look of contentment on his face.  
  
When Ron finished cleaning out the stall, he and Draco harnessed leashes around the three deer, and Ron led Apollo into the chilly fresh air, with Draco guiding the other two.  
  
****************  
  
Draco couldn't help smiling, even as the cruel winter wind struck his face. He'd been looking forward to this ever since he'd left for Hogworts at the start of the year. It might seem difficult to understand, but Draco loved these beasts with nearly all of his being. He'd found them stranded, near the Manor, three years ago. They'd roped his attention by their exquisite beauty, and the one he'd named Sage' was badly hurt and couldn't walk. The other two, Apollo and Aphrodite stood beside Sage like statues, unwilling to leave his side. So, without asking for any permission from Lucius, Draco carried Sage to the menagerie, and let him and the others stay in the end stall.   
  
Draco, to this day, still carried a large scar on his stomach from where his father had whipped him, when the furious man found out. Luckily, Lucius never harmed the stags, but he knew Draco was strongly attached to them, which was a great sign of weakness. And a Malfoy should never have a weakness.  
  
But Draco loved these three creatures still. They couldn't speak, of course, but Draco felt that an unbreakable bond had formed between them. It was as if they could read his thoughts; as if they, and only they, could understand him.  
  
Suddenly, to Draco's left, Ron was being sharply pulled about by an impatient Apollo. The warrior adrenaline of the stag seemed to rage as it began to prance excitedly, dragging Ron across the cool grass.  
  
Woah, woah, woah! the redhead yelled, trying to slow down, but the deer jerked out of control, and veered off to the right, charging at Sage and Aphrodite playfully, and knocking Ron directly into-  
  
  
  
Draco and Ron fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Surrendering to the deer and letting go of his leash, Ron was now supported by his nemesis' body, entwined with his on the grassy floor. Ron struggled to lift himself up, but Draco's legs were pinning him down. Malfoy, I can't move!  
  
Neither can I, you git, Draco groaned. Move your legs out from under mine.  
  
I can't. You unlock _your_ legs, Ron responded, still struggling to get out of this too-close-for-comfort position. Draco tried to untangle his limbs from Ron's, but the Gryffindor was being too stubborn to let him move.   
  
Just be still for a second, Draco commanded, and Ron reluctantly lay pliant. With one, swift movement, the blonde had flipped them over so that he was on top of Ron, and he was in control of his own legs.   
  
He untwisted his limbs from his rival's, but didn't get off him just yet. Something made him want to stay just the way he was, and for a moment, he didn't care what Weasley would do- he just wanted to lean down.........kiss him. Ron gazed up into his face, not holding any particular expression in those bright, blue eyes. Such lovely eyes. Draco wasn't sure if this meant he could do just what he wanted to do. But he was so close now. So damn close. If Draco moved his face foreword just three inches, he'd be in completion. Oh, Gods. He leaned his head down a bit, and watched Ron's eyes grow large and surprised. What was in those eyes? Shock? Doubt? Rejection? Oh, GODS!   
  
Draco tore his face away and stood up. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. If Ron rejected him.....Oh, Merlin! Oh, every fucking deity! Why was he such a sentimental coward?! Oh, Fuck!  
  
Come on, Weasley. We have to bring the stags back to the menagerie, Draco said evenly, turning away from the wide-eyed Gryffindor.  
  
Ron blinked a few times with astonishment, then stood up as well, and muttered,   
  
  
A Word From The Author: Salutations, everyone! I send you all many apologies for taking so long to write this bit. One thing explains it all: after-school job. (Ahhhhhhhhh!) I have done nothing but work all month long. I work at school, then work at the coffeehouse, then go home and do homework and make dinner. It never ends! Though, I must say, I'm really good at making cranberry scones now. Go me!   
  
Anyway, I just typed up all of this chapter today, because my school is having a faculty meeting to *puts on big, important voice* discuss the welfare and success of our students. Yeah. Well, It's completed! Now, I'm on to the next chapter. What did you think of this one? Hope it's all right and not too confusing. Happy Blessings!  
  
delicious love, Ebony L


	7. The First Confrontation

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: Talk Shows On Mute by Incubus (fabulous band)  
Chapter Seven: The First Confrontation  
  
Draco and Ron had barely spoken to each other since they led the stags back to the menagerie. It was after noon now, and Draco, his stomach heavy as if filled with lead, was desperate to get as far away as possible from the boy he had almost given himself to. He'd almost lost control.  
  
said Draco after watching Ron take the harnesses off the stags from the doorway of their stall. The redhead looked up at him with an anxious expression.  
  
_Come on, Malfoy. Talk to me,_ Ron thought desperately. _Tell me how what just happened._  
  
To Ron's disappointment, Draco didn't answer his silent plea, and instead, continued without expression, I want you to go to the kitchen, and summon one of the House Elves to take care of the laundry. Then, do homework or something. You can use either of the libraries, if you want.  
  
Ron sighed with frustration. He felt his blood boil in his veins, and inwardly scowled at his rival for being so usually stubborn, even about telling the truth of why he'd been staring at Ron so intently just moments before. Somewhere in the back of his skull, Ron knew the truth; he did. But he wasn't about to believe that Draco had taken on some sort of interest toward him.  
  
His thoughts skipped carefully around this lone, bizarre idea as he walked back to the manor, subconsciously shuffling his feet. This was ridiculous! Where had he even come up with such a cogitation? Well, the answer was actually quite clear: Malfoy.  
  
It seemed that from that moment forth, however, Draco's emotions would be sealed up more tightly than ever before. The next few days were just as aggravating as Ron had imagined when Draco first caught the golden snitch. Draco took on his master role and was carrying it out full-force.   
  
Every day, Ron awoke to Draco tapping on the shoulder and telling him, twenty minutes, Weasel. He'd bathe, dress casually, then go downstairs to eat a silent breakfast with Malfoy. Then, he'd go and take care of all the creatures in the menagerie, including the newly introduced fire-breathing horses which, to Ron's dismay, could be even more violent than the mini-dragons at times. Draco stopped going with him after the third day, leaving him to work alone. Following the toils of the menagerie, the redhead would do homework, all the while being at Malfoy's beck and call. Quite often, Malfoy would send him down to the servant's quarters with a message for one of the House Elves, or tell him to clean the hallway floor and make Malfoy's bed. This would go on until dinner, when Ron ate silently and Draco barely took two bites before excusing himself and his servant. Ron noticed this but did not voice it, nor did he ask why Lucius never appeared at dinner to eat with his family.  
  
The tediousness of each day exhausted Ron. He felt like thin fabric, starting to fray little by little, and Malfoy never spoke to him save for the distant commands he gave him. There was no more enthusiasm. No more light sincerity. Malfoy was now so abruptly aloof, always composed each time Ron saw him, and it was starting to make Ron insane.  
  
It had been a week since Ron had first arrived at the Manor, and shreds of light floated in from the end windows of the long hallway where Ron knelt, on the stony floor, scrubbing. He was surrounded by soap and water, and he was not in the best of moods. A door to his left opened, and Ron blinked up at the cold, rigid figure of Draco Malfoy. He held his gaze for a moment, not blinking. One might compare the rivals to two cats, just staring to see which one might turn away first. Ron anticipated that Draco might say something important, perhaps explain his indifferent behaviour. But Ron had also anticipated this every time he'd seen Draco that week, and it had never come to happen. But when had Malfoy ever _not_ been reserved? Well, he seemed to have opened up days ago, but that went away faster than it came.  
  
Ron waited now, just slightly hopeful that something would happen. Draco's eyes flicked down to the floor. You missed a spot. Ron looked down as well and gritted his teeth.  
  
Sorry, **_Sir_**. He leaned toward Malfoy's black boots and swiped the wet rag across the floor around them. Malfoy smirked.  
  
Good boy. Draco pulled out his wand and whispered a quick charm. Suddenly, all of the water and soapy bubbles began to melt into the floor, quickly vanishing from all sight. Ron looked around, confused, before meeting Malfoy's grinning face. Do it again.  
  
Ron felt his face get hot and he balled his fingers into fists. he fumed.  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows as he tucked his wand back into his jeans pocket. Yes, my servant?  
  
Ron squeezed his eyes shut and sat back on his heels. He sighed heavily. he whispered.  
  
He didn't see the pained look on his rival's face as he leaned down to begin cleaning again.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
  
At dinner that night, Lucius Malfoy _was_ at the head of the table, reading the Daily Prophet as his fork jabbed into the duck breast on his silver plate. Narcissa wore a dark red cocktail dress which was an improvement from the usual black attire, but she looked sad as she quietly ate. Draco was eating better tonight, Ron observed, but he stopped abruptly when Lucius cleared his throat.  
  
he drawled from behind the paper. I'll be leaving on important business tonight, so be sure to make certain that the house is in good order while I'm away.  
  
Yes, Father. Draco bowed his head, replacing his fork beside his plate. He knew exactly where his father was going, and it wouldn't be long now. Soon the Dark Lord would be paying the Manor a visit.  
  
I'll be away tomorrow as well.  
  
Yes, Father. Draco looked across the table to see that Ron was nearly finished with his meal. May we be excused?  
  
Lucius' hand appeared from behind the paper and waved them away.  
  
Draco stood up instantaneously and quickly strided out of the dining room, feeling his throat tighten as he walked. He had to get to his room. He had to get away from Weasley so he wouldn't see him like this. He hurried up the stairs.  
  
Malfoy. Malfoy! Will you wait? Draco could hear Ron's voice behind him as he reached the top of the stairs and he swerved around and faced the approaching redhead, eyes narrowed.  
  
Who's telling who what to do, Weasel? he asked coolly. Ron paused, staring blankly at him. I tell _you_ what to do, so I won't wait, and I'll tell you gladly to bugger off!  
  
Ron was taken aback. He continued to follow Malfoy as he stormed up the next flight of stairs. Why do you have to always be such a jerk, Malfoy? Why? I mean, clearly something is wrong with you, but you are to proud of yourself to tell anyone!  
  
Draco turned around again at the next floor and said softly but harshly, Do you think I'd tell a poor, stupid mudblood-lover like you that there's something wrong?  
  
Ron growled, This is exactly what I'm talking about! He changed his voice to mimic Malfoy's. Oh, I'm Draco Malfoy and I live in a manor, I have nice clothes and everyone wants to be me, so I can't open up to someone who's several steps below me.  
  
Draco's body felt like it was on fire and his eyes stung with anger. He exploded, All right, Weasley, you want to know what's bothering me?! Erm, it could be the fact that my stupid father is a Death Eater; that, like a Muggle father wants his son to play football, my father wants me to take the Dark Mark, so I can follow that bastard around and wait for him to kill me because I've lost my worth to him! Tears were streaming down Draco's face now as he shouted without breathing. Or perhaps it's because my mother is terminally ill with a virus that no one has ever heard of or can cure, and that she's dying a little bit every day! And, not to mention, if she did die, my father wouldn't even notice!  
  
Draco slumped down onto the top step and buried his head in his pale hands. Ron stood next to him, thoroughly shocked. He felt a gnawing in his stomach which made him feel horrible for saying anything to Draco.  
  
After a tense few minutes, he sighed, and sat down beside the blonde, who now stared ahead of him glumly. I'm sorry. I had no idea it was that bad.  
  
Draco finally looked at him. The skin around his eyes was red from crying. I'm sorry, Ron. I'm sorry for being such a prick, but I don't have any choice. You seem like an okay sort of person, but I can't be friends with you. If it doesn't look like we hate each other, my father can do really terrible things.  
  
Ron blinked a few times, trying to fully process these words. You don't hate me?  
  
Draco shook his head.  
  
Ron almost laughed. That's the first time you said my first name.   
  
Draco nodded, even though he'd said Ron's name many times before. To himself. On his bed.  
  
So, you don't hate Harry and Hermione either?  
  
Draco cleared his throat. No, I actually do dislike Potter and Granger quite a bit.  
  
Ron laughed. Okay. So,  
  
Good night, Weasley. Draco stood and walked the rest of the way to his room. He turned to face a confused-looking Ron once more, then closed the door behind himself.  
  
Ron stared at the closed door for a long time, then ran a hand through his short hair and smiled. What are the odds?  
  
  
  
A word from the author: Oi! Long time, no see, eh? I'm awfully sorry I haven't updated until this moment. The excuse is quite the same as before: pure chaos. Surprisingly, my mum and step dad haven't moved us anywhere in months and that, alone, is an improvement. Prep school is almost over for me, and that, as well, is wonderful. The trade off is that I've been doing nothing but looking at universities lately. I admit, I'm not exactly an Oxford sort of student, but I have to go somewhere pretty decent, so searching is a nightmare.  
  
Anyway, thanks soooooo much for your beautiful reviews! I haven't forgotten any of you, and I promise I'll be better about writing. Really. I will. I hope. *g* Tell me what you think of this chapter. I know it's a bit choppy in places, and I deeply apologize. If any of you have ideas for spiffing it up a bit, I'd love to hear them. I realize it probably seems odd that Malfoy would admit to Ron that he would rather be friends, but just bare with me. It all flows together with upcoming events. I think. hehe. All right.   
  
Happy blessings my dears, Delicious love,  
  
-Ebony L


	8. Shall We Play?

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: Here In My Room -Incubus  
Chapter Eight: Shall We Play?  
  
The following day began much like any of the previous days at the Manor. Ron was prodded from his dreamless sleep by Draco's impatient fingers, then the blonde wordlessly left him. Ron quickly washed his hair and slipped into his ordinary attire before proceeding downstairs to breakfast. Draco was seated with his paper propped up in one hand and a scone in the other. Neither boy acknowledged the other as they ate, and the only sound came from the morning doves outside the open windows.  
  
And so the morning went on. Ron treaded up the dewy hill to the menagerie and set to work, feeding the miniature dragons and grooming the fire-breathing horses. It was when Ron was busy harnessing the stags that a change in regular events occurred; The stall door opened and Draco stepped inside.  
  
Ron blinked up at him from his kneeling position on the dirt floor. He was used to this situation by now, of himself crouched before Draco with wordless anticipation, like a servant bowing before his master. Ron figured resentfully that Draco was rather fond of this particular arrangement.  
  
What are you doing here, Malfoy?   
  
Draco shrugged. Thought I'd help.  
  
Ron nearly gagged on his own saliva. You want to help? he asked skeptically.  
  
Draco nodded. I have nothing better to do. There was a brief pause; one which was fueled by Ron's half-astonished, half-inquisitive eyes boaring into Draco's. Finally, Draco's somber pout broke into a smirk. Hand me the reigns, Weasel. Ron smiled too, and complied.  
  
The air wasn't quite as cold as usual, Ron observed, as they walked the stags out across the pale green yard. The redhead closed his eyes and let the light breeze caress his skin. Draco tugged on Sage's harness to make him halt, and watched Ron for a moment; his rival's rosy cheeks, and full, parted lips gently blowing out his white cloudy breath. Draco felt a sort of warm tingle go through him as his mind absorbed this beautiful scene before him. This was the portrait he painted every night, when the house was quiet and the world was dark enough for secrets to remain hidden.   
  
Draco closed his eyes too, and said softly,   
  
  
  
This is a good day for Quittich.  
  
##############################################################################  
  
All right, Weasley. Bring that black box over to me.  
  
There were no uniforms, no bludgers, no stadium. But there was Draco's tall tower of the Manor, in which you could spot two boys in tee shirts and denim trousers, rummaging through Draco's collection of Quittich equipment.  
  
Ron snatched up a light-weight box made of an ebony sort of wood and brought it over to Draco, who's brow was creased in concentration as he fished through an assortment of brooms, old and new.  
  
What's in here? Ron asked, brandishing the box in front of Draco's nose.  
  
My snitch, the blonde replied as he pushed the box back to Ron. Aha! I knew I had a spare. Draco grinned triumphantly, selecting a Nimbus 2000 from the broom collection. He held its well-polished end out to Ron. You can use this one.  
  
Ron delicately received the broom. So where are we going to play?  
  
Draco pointed, and Ron's gaze followed his finger out the window, which overlooked Narcissa's garden. It was then that Ron once again noticed the easel, still obscured by the silky sheet. He was once more so curious; What could Draco not want him to see?  
  
Draco's eyes focused on the object of Ron's attention, and he felt his stomach do a flip. He hastily darted in front of Ron and snapped, Stop daydreaming, Weasley! I need a Quittich opponent, not a stupid pile of rocks on legs. Let's go all ready!  
  
Ron grimaced at the insult thrown at him, but nodded. The two rivals gathered their equipment and hurried down the many steps and out the front door. Ron smiled. The sun had at last come out, and all of the hedge-statues appeared to glow in the golden light.   
  
Draco carefully opened the dark box and plucked the snitch from the inside. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he turned to Ron. First one to get it wins.  
  
Ron felt a sense of deja vu. Wins what?  
  
Draco paused, sensing the irony as well. He smirked. Nothing. He just wins.  
  
  
  
Draco let go of the snitch, which spiraled into the air before going out of sight. The boys mounted their brooms and Draco taunted, I'll go easy on you since Quittich is more of Potter's expertise, though _he_ clearly isn't even that great. Either way, you're just a beginner, so you won't be that much competition.  
  
Shows how much you know, Ron retorted, and pushed off the ground with full force.  
  
Draco watched his nemesis' ascending form get smaller, and he shook his head, grinning broadly. One thing they certainly had in common was their pride. he said softly, and his Nimbus 2001 lifted him up into the clear sky.  
  
##############################################################################  
  
Draco dropped onto the grassy floor, exhausted. Ron landed beside him, and rolled over to face his platinum-haired rival, smiling from ear to ear. He waved the snitch in front of Draco's narrowed eyes. Six times, Malfoy. _Six_.  
  
Draco blinked, trying to catch his breath. Ah, _bugger_. Why didn't they make _you_ the Gryffindor seeker? Fucking bloody hell, Ron.  
  
Ron had been in the middle of laughing breathlessly, when he stopped abruptly. You said my name again.  
  
Draco, realizing his mistake, mentally kicked himself. He propped his head up with his elbow. Why complain, _Weasel_?  
  
Ron snickered. I wasn't complaining, _Ferret_.  
  
Draco sneered in return. Do not call me that.  
  
Ron gave a coy smile as he sat up in the grass. I just won six matches, and for that, I'll call you anything I like, _Ferret_.  
  
Before Draco could retort, he was startled as the redhead tackled him. Draco instinctively rolled over so he could be on the offensive side, and he grabbed Ron's sides, tickling him. Ron burst out laughing and tried desperately to push Draco off him. Draco, however, was stronger, and he grabbed Ron's wrists, pinning them to the ground beside his head.  
  
Draco commanded, thoroughly enjoying the situation.  
  
Ron flailed his head from side to side. All right.  
  
Draco brought his face down closer to his rival's and whispered menacingly, Who are you, Weasel?  
  
Ron scowled. Your servant.  
  
Draco nodded. He moved off of Ron so he could get up, and added, And not a bad Quittich player.  
  
Ron almost didn't believe his ears. Was that a compliment, Malfoy?  
  
Draco shrugged, diverting his gaze to the ground. Yeah. I suppose.  
  
The Gryffindor stared at him with astonishment. Before either of them could say another word, they heard the familiar, squeaky voice of Narcissa Malfoy, who stood at the front door in a light green dressing gown. Draco! Ron, dinner's nearly ready.  
  
All right! the boys called in unison. They wordlessly picked up the equipment and made their way back into the house.  
  
##############################################################################  
  
Narcissa seemed much more bubbly than usual without Lucius in the house. She prattled on rapidly as she elegantly cut the stalks of broccoli on her plate into small pieces. Draco was also more animated, and he had eaten about half of the food in front of him before Narcissa turned to Ron and said politely:  
  
An owl arrived for you about an hour ago. A large, snowy one. It's in the cage with your own owl, I believe.  
  
Ron responded, instantly forming the assumption of whose owl had flown to him. He wiped his lips with a dark green napkin and addressed Draco, Can I go see what was sent to me?  
  
Draco nodded. I just finished eating anyway.  
  
As the boys climbed the second staircase, Draco proposed, We'll continue our Quittich match tomorrow, Weasley? Like I said before, I wanted to go easy on you today, but tomorrow, I won't be holding back at all.  
  
Ron chuckled to himself. _Holding back_, he says. All right, Malfoy. Tomorrow.  
  
After his bedroom door was closed behind him, Ron instantly confirmed that his guess had been correct. For sitting in the cage, beside a very fidgety Pigwidgeon, was Harry's owl, Hedwig. The white owl looked up at him warily as Ron untied the manila envelope from around her foot.  
  
Thanks, Hedwig, Ron said softly, stroking the great bird a few times before breaking the Gryffindor seal on the envelope. He tipped it over, and a thin piece of folded paper fell into his hand. He sat back on his massive bed and opened the letter. It read:  
  
_Dear Ron,  
  
I hope everything is well for you. I asked Fred and George where you've been all holiday, but they haven't the slightest idea. Well, perhaps they do, but you know them. It's lonely this Christmas without you here. Doesn't seem right.  
  
About last week.....Ron, I dunno what to say about that, really. But I'm sorry. I just wanted to kiss you. I don't know why. I'm also sorry I didn't catch the snitch. I tried, you know.  
  
I hope you're all right. You were really off-colour last week.  
  
-HP  
_  
Ron sighed, reading the note over a few more times. After several minutes of deep thought, he reached for a quill from the bedside table and sloppily scrawled on the back of the paper:  
  
_Harry,  
  
I'm doing fine, I think. I'm with Charlie in Romania. It was sort of planned at the last minute. How's your holiday?  
  
Sorry I worried you. I just wasn't sure how to react before. It all happened really fast. It's all right, though. You give me more answers than Mal_  
  
Ron paused, glaring down at the paper with amazement. Since when had his thoughts turned to Malfoy?! He quickly blotted out the last line, then scribbled his signature at the bottom of the sheet. He blew on the ink to dry it, rolled up the paper and attached it to Hedwig's foot. The owl hooted impatiently and soared out the window, into the night sky.  
  
Ron stripped to his underwear and climbed into his bed. As tired as he was, he knew he wouldn't sleep well that night. He had too much to think about. Malfoy, for instance, was nicer to him today, and when they'd been play-fighting in the grass, Ron had felt....he couldn't describe it, but whatever it was, he liked it. He liked this type of Draco. He enjoyed the adrenaline rush the blonde sent through him. It was almost erotic.  
  
Ron's thoughts seemed to slam to a halt. _Erotic?!_ What had possessed him to use that word in describing Malfoy?! He had to stop thinking, or he knew where his thoughts might go, and _that_ was a dangerous subject to fantasize about.  
  
When the Gryffindor did at last fall asleep, the dream from a week before encompassed him once again. It had been a dream he'd anxiously been attempting to forget all week long; The dream which revealed to him too clearly what it felt like to have his rival's lips pressed against his own.  
  
Over the course of the next few days, Draco and Ron dueled persistently at their modified form of Quittich, with Draco winning about one fifth of the time. Draco was only half-enraged that he was losing so horribly, for during these one-on-one matches, the Slytherin was getting the best Quittich practice he'd ever had. And he loved watching his rival diligently search the sky for the snitch. It was sort of like watching an eagle that was about to spread its wings and fly.  
  
Draco was beginning to get worried, though. His father never returned home like he said he would, and Draco felt a strange sense of paranoia looming over him. It began the second day of his and Ron's , so to speak. Draco was just pushing off the ground, latching his legs around the broomstick, when he felt a sort of presence around him. It was as if someone was always behind him, attached like a shadow, watching him, and Draco felt uneasy at the thought of _who_ might be spying on him.  
  
It was only when the two boys retired from dinner each night that Draco no longer felt like eyes were boaring into the back of his head. Every night, he'd go up to his tower and pour over the painting. It was nearly finished, he knew, but it always seemed like something was missing. He just didn't know what.  
  
Meanwhile, in the room across the hallway, Ron Weasley was relentlessly being haunted by the same dream, though some of the moments he shared with Draco were more heated than others.  
  
############  
  
Ron, dressed only in a pair of gray flannel boxers, slipped under the silky sheets of his bed after blowing out the lamp on his bedside table. As his eyes adjusted to the abrupt darkness of the room, he thought he saw a shadow skim past the foot of his bed. He shook his head, deciding that he was just so tired that he wasn't seeing straight.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of soft hands gently covered his eyes, and that same voice whispered, Guess who?  
  
Ron felt his heartbeat quicken immediately.   
  
That's right, replied his captor, and the hands slipped from his face as the blonde appeared in front of him. A faint sliver of moonlight stretched across Draco's features, and Ron was certain he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the boy now leaning over him. His rival's silver gaze pierced his own as Draco said softly and lucidly, I want you, Ron.  
  
Ron gulped, unsurely reaching a hand behind Draco's neck to pull them closer together until their lips were pressed together. It wasn't long before Draco's tongue found its way to the opening of Ron's mouth, and Ron willingly parted his lips to entangle the foreign tongue with his own.  
  
This kiss seemed to last forever, but still not long enough, and Ron was not aware that he was lying on his back with Draco's slender body flat on top of him until he felt the blonde's long fingers trailing down his torso. He reflexively arched into Draco, pressing their bodies together in all the right places. he moaned, feeling his rival's fingers lightly graze over his sensitive nipples.   
  
He could hear Draco groan, then the blonde's face leaned so close to his that their noses touched. His voice was so faint, Ron could just barely hear it. Time to wake up.  
  
###########  
  
Ron's head jerked up from his pillow, and he groggily gazed around the brightly-lit River Room, panting heavily. At first, he was unsure of where he was, or, more importantly, _when_ it was. Then his thoughts quickly pieced together, and he realized, yet again, that he'd been dreaming.   
  
Oh, but it was so _real_. So beautifully real.  
  
Ron raked his fingers through his tousled hair, noticing instantly that it was damp with sweat. This was bad. For three nights in a row he'd dreamt the same dream about Draco kissing him, touching him, and doing everything that one shouldn't do to his enemy. But there was an even worse part. Oh, yes.  
  
Ron never wanted the dreams to end.  
  
The redhead pushed off his sheets and looked down at his watch. It was almost half-nine. That meant any minute now-  
  
The door creaked open, and Draco Malfoy appeared in the door, dressed in his usual morning attire that consisted of the signature dark green bathrobe. Draco was surprised to see his rival already awake, and he almost felt disappointed that he wouldn't be able to watch Ron sleep today.  
  
Good morning, Ron mumbled modestly, as pieces of the dream flashed in his brain.  
  
the blonde answered, stepping closer. He crossed his arms over his chest and said in a detached tone, My father has returned home today, Weasel. After you work in the menagerie, I expect the hallway floor to be cleaned and the tapestries to be dusted. You've neglected to do those tasks for the past few days. Ron felt his heart sink and his gaze fell to his hands, clasped in his lap. Draco continued, I want my bed made as well before we play Quittich.  
  
Ron looked up at his rival again, surprised that Quittich was even being brought up.  
  
Draco smiled to himself, then turned to exit, saying lightly over his shoulder, Breakfast in twenty minutes.  
  
##############################################################################  
  
It was a little past four o'clock when Ron finished carrying out Draco's orders, but he wasn't tired. He actually felt stimulated by the anticipation of his upcoming Quittich match with Draco. As he and the Slytherin carried their brooms out into the garden, they were engaged in a long conversation about different Quittich teams. Draco, himself, was quite supportive of the Chudley Canons.  
  
They mounted their brooms and released the snitch. And so, the game began. Within ten minutes, both boys had spotted the snitch and were flying side by side, neck and neck, each trying to pass his rival to grasp the winged ball.  
  
Give up, Weasley! You won't win this time! Draco shouted, grinning madly into the cool wind.  
  
I wouldn't dream of it, Malfoy! Ron countered, gripping his broom tighter.   
  
Suit yourself, Draco replied, and steered his broom to the right, causing his body to ram forcefully into Ron's. Not expecting the blow, Ron was pushed sideways, making his broom veer a few feet to the right. When he regained his balance, Ron realized that he was no longer following the path of the snitch, and Draco was gaining on it!  
  
Draco beamed, knowing that the snitch was barely inches from his outstretched hand. He was so intently focused on the golden ball that it took him a moment to notice a large gray barrier forming directly in front of him. He blinked, then gasped, trying to swerve out of the way, but the stone wall of his tower seemed to keep coming closer and closer until Draco found himself being violently thrown from his Nimbus 2001, through the misty air. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to crack his skull on the hard stones, but then, to his astonishment, he abruptly skidded across a stone floor, landing right in front of his easel. Somehow he'd managed to fall right through the tower window!  
  
Gasping for breath, the Draco stood at the sound of the redhead calling his name. He looked out the window just as Ron appeared outside, reclining on his broom. Ron sighed heavily. Oh, good. You're all right.  
  
Draco answered. Where's the snitch?  
  
Ron smirked, waving the tiny ball at Draco, before carefully gliding through the window to join the Slytherin.  
  
Draco laughed breathlessly. Incredible, Weasel. I knock you out of the way and you still win.  
  
Ron shook his head positively. I'd have smacked you for pulling such a nasty trick, but it looks like you already got a good scare. Ron gestured toward the window.  
  
Draco scowled. I was not _scared_.  
  
Ron chuckled. Right. The look on your face was a sort of wide-eyed _arrogance_.  
  
Shut up, Weasel. Draco playfully pushed the laughing Gryffindor. He smiled. Gods, who wouldn't be scared?  
  
Ron nodded, calming down. He sent a knowing smile at his nemesis. Another match? Less violent, of course.  
  
Yes, but keep the violence coming. I'd like to see _you_ nearly shit in your knickers.  
  
They competed in the air for two more hours, a lion and serpent, dueling with full vitality, enjoying every minute of it. Draco was so caught up in the adrenaline rush that he didn't pay so much attention to his gut feeling that someone was still watching them.  
  
He didn't know that a man was sitting patiently in the tower opposite his own, with his steely eyes fixed upon him.  
  
##############################################################################  
  
That evening, after dinner, Ron and Draco quietly left the dining room, and it was only when the large door had closed behind them that the two boys burst out laughing.  
  
Ron stumbled alongside Draco, clutching his chest as he tried to stop giggling. Did you hear her? I mean, of course you heard her, he said in between gasps.  
  
Merlin, that's what I live with every time we have a holiday. Draco snickered as they climbed the first staircase. Every year my mother plans a family gathering, and every damn year, she spends an entire day thinking and talking about nothing else.  
  
Ron stuck out his chin and said in a mock-high-pitched voice, I simply can't decide between dark green or dark red table decorations.  
  
Draco, too, raised his voice an octave and chimed in, And the orchestra is a nightmare! I can't have them playing the same songs as last year. He chuckled, shaking his head. My mother, Gods save her.  
  
Well, it certainly will be a spectacular party, Ron replied, beaming. They'd now reached the third floor, and they halted outside their bedroom doors.   
  
You're allowed to go, by the way, Draco added. I mean, not to the party itself, but the banquet before it.  
  
Thanks, _Sir_, Ron answered, bowing his head slightly, and Draco chuckled.  
  
Don't do that, you idiot. Only bow when I tell you to. Draco placed a hand on Ron's shoulder to make him tilt his head back up.  
  
Ron shrugged. Better tell me to do it soon. The Winter Holiday ends in three days.  
  
Draco nodded. Good point, Weasley. He reluctantly let his hand drop back to his side. Good night.  
  
Good night, Malfoy, Ron echoed.  
  
Draco entered his room and softly closed the door behind him. He took off his black robe and draped it over the back of his desk chair, then quickly climbed the tower steps until he found himself standing in front of his easel. He carefully removed the sheet that had obscured the painting from view, and peered intently at his nearly-finished work. It was so beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the person it had been painted of, the person Draco desired most now.  
  
It was then that Draco jumped at the unmistakable popping sound right behind him. He whirled around just as a hard fist connected with his jaw. Draco cried out, staggering backward from the blow caused by none other than his father, Lucius Malfoy.  
  
How _dare_ you dishonor the Malfoy name?! Lucius bellowed, gripping his son by the collar of his shirt. How DARE you?!  
  
Draco whimpered, What are you talking about? What have I done?  
  
Lucius' normally pale face was red, and his cold eyes pierced Draco's. His voice dripped with venom. Before you claimed that you did not befriend someone as low as a Weasley, but I have watched you and that filthy boy for three days. And I have observed that it is not only in your interest to befriend him, but that you've become practically _obsessed_ with him! Draco moaned in pain as his father tugged hard on his hair. Then Lucius shoved him with god-like force, throwing Draco's body down to the stone tiles with a dull crash. Draco could feel tears welling up in his eyes.  
  
It was at that moment that Lucius discovered the portrait. His face contorted maliciously and he strode up to the easel and kicked it over. He turned back to Draco and seethed, To think that I told the Dark Lord that you're _ready_ to receive the Dark Mark. You're undeserving of such an honor!  
  
Draco's face felt hot, and he swiped a hand across it. He then looked down at his hand and discovered that it was covered in blood. He gazed back up at his father, eyes narrowed. I don't want the Mark! he spat. I don't want to be branded, then follow that fucking blood-sucker around, showing him allegiance.  
  
Lucius' glare vanished, and was replaced by the familiar emotionless stare. he said coolly, You will show your allegiance before you get the privilege of taking your Mark, and you will also be the proper Malfoy before you do. With that, Lucius disappeared from the room, and Draco clutched his pounding head. He hurried down the stone steps to leave the tower, but at the bottom, he discovered that the double doors to his bedroom were locked. He felt around for his wand in the pocket of his trousers, but then realized that he'd left his wand in the pocket of his robe.  
  
There was no way out. Lucius had locked him in here and he couldn't get out. Filled with rage, Draco struck his head against the door. he shouted hoarsely. No, no, no! After pounding his fists against the thick wood panel for a long time, he sighed, trudging back up the stairs. He gently picked up his fallen easel, and put the painting back in its place. He closed his eyes tightly and whispered, Oh, Ron.  
  
#################  
  
Oh, _Draco_.  
  
Ron arched his naked body upward as Draco's lips encircled his swollen cock. Ron ran his fingers through Draco's soft hair, moaning loudly as he felt himself coming closer and closer to release.  
  
Draco stared up at him as he continued to run his tongue along Ron's hard shaft. It wasn't long before Ron orgasmed in Draco's puckered mouth, throwing his head back on his pillow and groaning in ecstasy.  
  
They lay there in the cover of moonlight, entwined in each other's arms, listening to each other's heart beats slow down. Draco leaned down to kiss Ron's jaw line before whispering, I can't stay with you right now. Don't you hear the screaming?  
  
Ron repeated, suddenly feeling dizzy as the world faded before him.  
  
###############  
  
Ron sat bolt upright in bed. In his confused state, the first thing his mind processed was the faint humming sound coming from outside his window. Ron stood quickly and went to the window, listening intently. Then he remembered his dream.   
  
he mused aloud, comprehending the humming sound as actually being a chorus of shrieks from somewhere in the distance. What could it be making such a dreadful sound?   
  
Ron immediately mentally kicked himself. Screaming? That wasn't screaming. It was only the wind. How could he be so daft? Sniggering at himself, the redhead crawled back into bed and immediately noticed the hot stickiness of the sheets.   
  
Oh, shit.  
  
He pointed his wand at the mess and whispered a quick cleaning charm before replacing his head on his pillow and falling asleep.  
  
A word from the author: Hello! My, wasn't this a lengthy chapter, eh? I thought I should make up for all that time I spend not updating. This is another choppy chappy, I think, because a lot of events go by in the period of a few days, jumping in between Ron's and Draco's perspectives. But if you could follow what was going on, rock it up! In my quick editing process, I tried to add and/or take out certain bits and pieces to make it easier to understand.  
  
So, what do you think the sound is coming from? To be pretty blunt, Lucius is awfully pissed at this point, so perhaps that has something to do with it hint, hint. Anyhow, the next chapter ought to be up soon. Hope you enjoyed this one!  
  
Delicious love, Ebony L  
  
PS: By the way, if anyone was the least bit curious, I haven't found **_the_** university yet. I've actually been considering attending one somewhere in the U.S. To you Americans out there, does anyone know what NYU is like?


	9. The Second Confrontation

Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve  
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R  
Pairing: Draco/Ron  
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?  
Current Music: Sounds of Silence -Simon and Garfunkle  
Chapter Nine: The Second Confrontation  
  
Throughout the night, Draco had only lightly slept, leaning against the tower wall, using his work shirt as a pillow. As he slept, he felt strangely conscious of his surroundings, but heightened senses comes naturally with fear. Draco wasn't afraid, though.  
  
He was petrified.  
  
And all his dreams depicted the worst: pain, torture, destruction. Take your pick. Everything was dead in a thick, dark haze, and it was all Draco's fault.  
  
Draco awoke moments before the dawn. Running a shaky hand over his face, he concluded that the blood was practically dry. Nothing a shower couldn't fix. Almost on instinct, he stood and turned toward the stone steps below him. Oh, right. He couldn't leave the tower. Throughout the night, he'd thought of ways to escape. He usually stored his brooms up here, for instance, so he could just fly out. But as fate would have it, Draco remembered that he and Ron had left their brooms out in the garden.  
  
he muttered, turning his gaze to the window. There was a dim light in the sky, and the birds had begun to sing. Draco sighed, slumping back into his position on the floor, resting his head on the wall. He wondered what Ron would say if Draco didn't come to wake him up that morning. Would he go looking for him? More than likely. Then he could help him get the hell down from here.  
  
His thoughts dissolved at the loud popping sound to his left. He shivered at the appearance of his father. Lucius carried a calm expression as he took a few steps toward Draco, looking him over.  
  
I suppose you've been punished for long enough, he drawled. Besides, tonight is our Yule party, and so many relatives would wonder where you are. Without warning, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco's face. Draco flinched, recoiling against the wall. No more pain.   
  
To Draco's surprise, his father had only cast a cleaning charm, and the younger Malfoy no longer tasted blood in his mouth. He brought a hand to his no longer bruised cheek.  
  
No blemishes, right, my son? Lucius tucked his wand back into his dark robe.   
  
Draco scowled, words at last finding him. So you mean to cover it all up? Just like all the other times you beat me?  
  
Lucius ignored Draco's spiteful words. You will have to attend the party this evening. I suppose your _servant_ will attend as well, which means I expect that no one will tidy up the menagerie today. He then strode over to Draco and forcefully pulled him up by his shoulders into a standing position. The air between them was thick with tension as they glared at each other. Lucius whispered, You won't breathe a word of this to anyone, or it will surely be your very last breath. Lucius pulled away, and Draco watched him warily as he apparated from the room.  
  
Draco frantically rushed down the steps and tugged on one of the door handles. To his solace, the doors creaked open. He exhaled heavily, stumbling into his bedroom. He stood in front of his large mirror and watched his reflection. He looked all right, but he felt like a wreck. What was he supposed to do now?  
  
The only thing that made sense was to keep himself busy by getting ready for the party. He sauntered into his bathroom and fiddled with the taps of the massive bathtub. After removing his clothes and throwing them aside, he slipped into the water, leaned back against the edge of the tub, and closed his eyes.  
  
Draco didn't realize how exhausted he was until now, and he almost preferred to fall into bed and sleep for a little longer before starting the day. But it was nine o'clock when he finished bathing and combing his hair into position. He'd have to wake Ron soon.  
  
Then it hit him. Ron! Was he all right? Draco's mind swam with the dreams of last night; dreams of a red-headed boy being tortured. Draco carefully opened the door that connected the bathroom to the River Room and peered nervously around the room.  
  
In the bed to his right, a patch of red-orange was sticking out of the pile of pillows. Draco sighed with relief and moved closer to the bed. Ron's face was in his pillow, and his body moved slightly as his chest slowly heaved with each even breath.  
  
_To be that pillow_, Draco thought, smirking to himself.  
  
He froze suddenly, hearing a groan come from his rival, and Ron's head jerked up from the pillows. Draco watched as the Gryffindor shook his head a few times and yawned as he sat up.  
  
The blonde felt it was about time that he said something.   
  
Ron jumped, startled, then turned to face Draco. His cheeks were flushed and his half-lidded eyes met Draco's almost shyly. He cleared his throat and acknowledged,   
  
Draco walked up to Ron's bedside and sat down next to his rival. Er...Sleep well? he asked, intensely taking in Ron's features. No bruises. No blood. No harm from Lucius. Good.  
  
Ron felt his cheeks get warm. Yes. I slept.....well. He diverted his gaze to his bed sheets, hoping Draco wouldn't notice his blush.   
  
Draco paused before answering. He shouldn't worry Ron anymore with stories about being beaten. So he replied,   
  
Ron nodded. Are we playing Quidditch today?  
  
Draco shook his head. Today you have to get ready for the banquet, so no chores and no Quidditch.  
  
Ron didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He'd been so looking foreword to another match with the gorgeous Slytherin. And suddenly another idea occurred to him. Erm... Malfoy? Draco leaned closer to show he was listening. Ron could no longer hold his gaze, and he looked down at his hands, feeling ashamed. I don't have any really nice clothes.  
  
History amended at that moment, and all the deceased Malfoys flopped over in their tombs as Draco Ignis Malfoy smiled and said the inevitable: That's why I'm letting you use mine.All right, Malfoy, you can look. But I feel really foolish in these tight clothes.  
  
Draco whipped around to look at Ron, and suddenly forgot how to breathe. Ron stood modestly in Draco's black dress slacks and a buttoned-down silver shirt. Draco silently praised the god that decided his body should be smaller than Ron's, because all the clothes Ron wore were tight-fitting in all the necessary places.  
  
Stunning. Absolutely stunning, Draco mused aloud, and noticed with satisfaction the light pink tinge forming beneath Ron's freckles. Draco's eyes trailed down his rival's torso, and he paused, frowning. The sleeves are too short though. Your arms are much too long for that shirt. Draco pulled a black shirt from its wire and tossed it to Ron. Put this on. I haven't had it altered yet so the sleeves are longer.  
  
Ron nodded and wordlessly unbuttoned the shirt he had on. Draco meant to turn around to give the redhead some privacy, but he stopped abruptly, eyes transfixed on Ron as he shrugged out of the shirt, revealing his pale skin, freckle-kissed shoulders and soft, brown nipples. Draco bit his lip, unable to tear his eyes away, and Ron's gaze coyly met his as he dropped the smaller shirt at his feet.   
  
Draco, Darling!  
  
Draco and Ron started and turned their eyes to the bedroom door.  
  
Yes, Mother? Draco called, annoyed by the interruption.  
  
Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like me to have it sent up to your room? Narcissa's voice was muffled by the door, so Draco had to crane his neck a little to hear.  
  
Yes, thank you!  
  
Oh! And, Draco, could you help me pin my gown? I can't seem to make an even seam.  
  
Draco sighed. He didn't want to leave the very shirtless, very beautiful Ron. He turned to Ron and smirked. She's a lunatic about parties, I swear. Ron smiled too, once again holding his gaze. Draco was forcing himself not to let his eyes wander back down to Ron's chest, and he shifted uncomfortably and mumbled quickly, Try on the shirt while I'm gone. He mechanically turned and left Ron alone in the dim bedroom.  
  
Ron slipped into the new shirt, enjoying its soft feel, then stood in front of Draco's tall mirror to examine himself as he buttoned the last few buttons on the front. The sleeves were better in length and black was a good colour for him, he decided, turning around before his reflection. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at the image in the glass. He'd never felt so proper, and new, and.....rich.   
  
He chuckled to himself, and told his reflection, You're looking good, Ron Weasley. You're looking jolly, jolly good.  
  
And then, his reflection replied in a high-pitched voice, Hello, Draco. Welcome to your diary. If you'd like to make a new entry, you can do so- now. Ron stared at the mirror in disbelief. Malfoy's diary. Ha! Malfoy's _diary_! This would tell him everything he'd ever wanted to know about Draco. All his dirty, little secrets.  
  
After much silence from Ron, the mirror inquired, Draco, would you like to view some old entries?  
  
Ron said softly, almost anxiously.  
  
Just a moment, said the voice, and suddenly, Ron's reflection disappeared and was replaced by an image of a slightly younger Draco looking more than discontent. June eleventh of two years ago, announced the voice, then the Draco reflection began to speak:  
  
He's back again. That bastard is in my house, with all his followers. Father's downstairs, being a hospitable host, and Mother is ill again. I didn't see _him_, and I'm grateful because I'd rather he didn't know that I exist. But Father told me last night that I'm meant to take the Mark. Someday I'm going to attend those meetings, and I know it's my duty to serve and be a good Malfoy heir, but I'm afraid. I don't want to be my father. And I told him. He.....he-  
  
Ron watched as Draco's face contorted, and he swiped a hand across his eyes. Dear Gods, he was crying.  
  
Draco sighed and tugged on a piece of his hair. He said I was weak, and he hit me all across my legs with his staff. There are still bruises. And I hate him, even though he _should_ be punishing me for not living up to his standards. I hate him so much.  
  
The image instantly disappeared, and Ron saw himself. The light female voice asked, Draco, would you like to view more entries?  
  
Ron whispered, unable to believe that Draco would almost think it was _right_ for Lucius to hurt him.  
  
Previous or later entries?  
  
Much later, Ron answered, seeing himself vanish, only to be replaced by an older Draco Malfoy seconds later.  
  
August nineteenth of this year.  
  
Draco looked out at Ron and sighed. His voice was deeper than it was in the earlier entry. Father gave me a present last night. Except this one wasn't wrapped in a box. It was a girl. A really beautiful girl; my age, with red hair and big brown eyes. At first, I didn't understand what the purpose of having a girl for a gift was. Draco chuckled dryly to himself. I soon discovered _exactly_ what she was for, and when my father left, she came onto me and started kissing me. Took off her clothes. The blonde sighed again. She was beautiful. But for some reason, I wasn't attracted to her. I didn't want to just take advantage of her, so I asked, Is this really what you want?' She didn't say yes' or no'. She just looked at me and said, I have a family who needs me.'   
  
Draco ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. I told her she didn't have to do anything, and I let her go. I really know now that I'm nothing like Father, as much as I try to be. I'm too weak, and when a whore offered herself to me, I refused her because she was _my_ age, and I didn't want to hurt her. Merlin, I'm weak.  
  
The image was gone. Ron knelt before the mirror, amazed. Next entry, he told the mirror.  
  
August twenty-third of this year.  
  
A new figure of Draco formed. He looked tired with heavy, blood-shot eyes, but he also gave an expression of calm. They killed her, he said indifferently. The whore; they killed her this morning. I overheard my father and another Death Eater talking about the Dark Lord. They said he got tired of using her; she didn't please him enough, so he had her destroyed. Draco laughed bitterly. It'll be me next, once I get my Mark. Soon he'll get tired of me, and just like that, I'll die. In the background, Ron could hear knocking on Draco's bedroom door. Draco whipped around to look at it, before turning back to Ron and whispering Good night. And he was gone.  
  
Another entry. Later, Ron ordered anxiously.  
  
Just a moment, the mirror answered, and then added, October sixth of this year.  
  
The scene changed to a darker room illuminated by a pale green light. Ron guessed it was the Slytherin dormitory, and Draco stepped into view dressed in black, satin pajamas. His cheeks were flushed. I dreamed about him again. I just can't get his face out of my head. He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I'm a Malfoy. I get what I want, but I want him more than anything, and he hates me. Despises me.   
  
Ron gagged, eyes large. _He_? Malfoy's gay?  
  
I don't blame him, though. I've never treated him well, but I would go back and change all that if it would make him want me. And he's always with stupid _Potter_, and Granger. Granger's sure to have him. I just don't know what to do.  
  
Crabbe suddenly appeared behind Draco, and Draco's eyes widened.  
  
Good night, Draco whispered, and the picture was gone.  
  
Ron stared at his reflection, mouth agape. Had he heard correctly? _And he's always with stupid Potter, and Granger._ Ron felt his heart beat begin to accelerate and he said hoarsely, Another entry. Later.  
  
December ninth of this year.  
  
The scene was Draco's bedroom once again. It was the day they'd first arrived at the manor. Draco was dressed in a nice robe and his hair was neatly in place. He had a small smile on his face.  
  
Well, I'm happy. Really happy, because I won the bet with Weasley, and now he's here. In my own, bloody house! He's likely just going to sleep right now, in the room across the hall. Draco dragged a hand through his hair, and continued. I, er, don't really know what I'm supposed to make him do tomorrow, as my servant. Honestly, all I want to do is kiss him. And every time I see him, it only gets more intense. But I still have my doubts that this will work. I can only hope to Merlin that something good comes out of him being here. Anyway, I'm home, and I'm going to bed. Good night.  
  
No. No way in Hell. Draco could not have just said all that. Could he? He wanted him. Draco Malfoy wanted _him_! Ron didn't know what to do, what to say. All this time, with all their fighting and rivalry, behind all of Draco's hurtful comments- he wanted him! Ron couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Next entry, he whispered urgently. This could not be real.  
  
December tenth of this year.  
  
I almost kissed him today, Draco said softly, staring blankly out at Ron. We were taking the stags for a walk, and Apollo dragged him into me. And I was on top of him in the grass. Gods, I wanted to kiss him right then. I just couldn't. What would he think of me if I did? He gave a frustrated sigh. I can't be so open with him anymore. I don't want him to know how I feel, and he's already in danger if Father finds out. Father. Draco sniggered to himself. Father barely notices me as it is. He doesn't even know about the painting, and-  
  
Ron thought aloud. The tower. He jumped up and strode over to the double doors. To his delight, they weren't locked. He threw open the doors and hurried up the spiral of stone steps until he was standing before the portrait. He gasped.  
  
It's me.  
  
There, upon the canvas, was Ron Weasley, sitting in the Slytherin dungeons, gazing out the window above his head, watching the snow spiral down from the Heavens. In the bottom corner of the painting, a few words were scrawled in ink.  
  
**_What I love most about you._**  
  
##############################################################################  
  
Draco was feeling slightly annoyed after accidentally poking himself with pins three times. But he'd managed to make the edge of his mother's dress look even, and if it made her happy, he was content. He trudged back into his bedroom, expecting to see Ron, fiddling shyly with his new shirt.  
  
But there was no one there. he called, looking around the room as if Ron was about to jump out from behind his desk, or bed, or closet. His eyes rested on the double doors across the room, both wide open. Oh, no, he whispered, dashing up the stone steps. When he came to the top, he stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
Ron turned from the portrait to look at him.  
  
Draco's throat clenched. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Oh, Merlin. He tried to speak, but found no words.  
  
Ron stared at him without expression. I know.  
  
Ron couldn't know. He wouldn't understand if he knew what Draco felt for him. Draco had to save this. He had to cover for himself. He spat angrily, What? You know how to go through someone's personal things? Though, it is just a painting. At least you stumbled upon my best work.  
  
Ron protested, But I _know_, Malfoy.  
  
Draco argued, You went through my things and found one of my paintings. I suppose it doesn't matter if I show you the other ones now, does it? They're of fruit.  
  
Ron shouted. I know why you painted me, so stop making it seem like it isn't important.  
  
Fuck you, Draco retorted. It isn't important, so drop it. Never speak of it again. Draco felt his eyes start to sting, and he turned away from Ron as a small stream of tears cascaded down his cheeks. He made his way over to the stone steps.  
  
I saw the diary, Draco, Ron called desperately. I saw it.  
  
Draco stopped. I hope it was a decent show, he whispered. Then he made his voice harden, and said indifferently, Finish preparing for the banquet, then meet me in front of the dining room at nine.  
  
Before Ron could say another word, Draco descended the stairs and left him alone in the tower. Ron sighed, frustrated. Draco was denying everything. He wouldn't even let Ron speak; let him explain how he felt. Ron took another glance back at the painting, then slowly walked downstairs.  
  
He had just flopped onto Draco's bed when he heard a faint knocking on the bedroom door. he asked, sitting up. The door gradually opened, and the long nose of one of the House Elves appeared from behind it.  
  
The House Elf coughed timidly. Master Malfoy?  
  
No. Ron Weasley, Ron corrected. Please come in if you meant to.  
  
I did, Sir. The small, somewhat distorted head of the elf popped into the room, followed by a dirty toga-like dress and two large feet. I brought your lunch, the House Elf explained as he waved his arms in large circles. It was then that a platter of sandwiches floated lazily into the room.  
  
Ron got up quickly and took the silver tray. Let me help you with that.  
  
Thank you, Sir. The little man with large ears bowed his head, then turned and hurried out of the room.  
  
Ron set the tray down on Draco's desk and took a ham sandwich from it. He didn't know what to do now. He wished he could talk to Draco, but he knew the stubborn Slytherin wouldn't listen. It was no use.   
  
Ron went into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the bathtub. He carefully folded the shirt and trousers, then slipped out of his boxers and dropped into the hot, soapy water. He closed his eyes, pleased that the tension in his muscles was being burned away by the water. He wished it could do the same for the tension in his mind. he sighed. Who ever thought I'd feel this way about you?  
  
############################  
  
Draco busied himself by walking through the Manor and inspecting all the Christmas decorations. But all the while, he felt confused. Ron knew how he felt. Why hadn't Draco just admitted that it was true? Oh, one small reason. He was certain he'd be rejected and humiliated.  
  
Draco hadn't seen his father anywhere, and he was beginning to get worried. What if the Dark Lord arrived at the banquet? Draco's initiation could be due any day now.  
  
No, you idiot, Draco told himself, shaking his head as he walked through the library. He'd never appear in public other than his cult of Death Eaters. As far as Draco was concerned, he and Ron were perfectly safe today, and that was good to know.  
  
But it seemed that he'd now taken a step backward in his task of winning Ron over. Ron had found it all out much to soon, and now Draco found himself in the agonizing position of Ron's indifferent nemesis, who wouldn't speak to Ron or even go near him if he wanted to. Rejection. Humiliation. Self-hatred. These concepts were almost familiar to Draco by now.  
  
##############################################################################  
  
Ron slowly descended the hall stairs which led into the foyer. He was dressed nicely, his hair was neatly combed, and he smelled like strawberry soap, but he felt very much out of place when his eyes rested on the mass of mingling party guests in front of the dining room.  
  
Ron recognized only a few of the guests, including Professor Snape who was dressed in his normal, black robe. Among those he didn't know was a stout woman in a superlative red ball gown with a large ruby-studded necklace, and a tall gentleman with graying hair and a fancy, gold watch. Ron wondered how much such accessories cost, since all the guests seemed to be sporting them.  
  
It was at that moment that Ron spotted Draco. He couldn't look away.  
  
Draco wore a dark green, buttoned-down shirt with a black tie and black trousers. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making his pale face glow more than ever. When he saw Ron, he paused, gazing at him, before turning his focus to his feet.  
  
Ron walked over to him, suddenly feeling a little nervous. When he stopped in front of the blonde, he whispered, Malfoy, I need to talk to you about-  
  
Let's find seats, Draco interrupted tonelessly. He turned and led Ron in through the grand doors to the dining room.  
  
Ron peered around the large room. Narcissa really did a good job. There was a tall, Christmas tree in each corner, adorned with candles and other decorations. Mistletoe hung from the ceiling every few feet, and Ron suspected that when everyone was good and drunk that evening, the hanging plants would be used quite a bit. The flames in the fireplaces crackled, casting a cheery glow over the room, and a group of ghosts sat by the end window, playing Christmas music on their violins and cellos.  
  
Ron and Draco sat down beside each other, neither looking at his rival. Around them, radiant guests were taking their places at the table. Narcissa Malfoy entered before Lucius. She was clad in a pale green, silk gown, and her light hair was elegantly piled atop her head. She nodded to a few guests and took her place at the foot of the table. Lucius, in a dark blue robe, sat at the head and looked over at Draco, then at Ron beside him. Lucius waved a hand and the table filled with platters of Yule meats and pastries, pies, cakes and puddings. Ron was pleased to see his wine glass fill to the brim. He quickly piled chicken legs and potatoes onto his plate, then he glanced at Draco, noticing that the Slytherin had selected only a thin piece of pecan pie. Draco was nervous about something, Ron could tell.  
  
As they ate and drank, surrounded by the chatter of bubbly guests, Ron heard the stout woman, sitting across from him, call to Lucius in a resonating voice, Lucius, what a marvelous event! I mean to thank Narcissa, but the woman is bedded in conversation as it is.  
  
Thank you, Eugenie, Lucius drawled, for your rarely-offered approval.  
  
Eugenie Crabbe nodded her large head graciously, then added, And there's a meat you've set out, next to the chicken. It's simply delicious! I can't recall ever tasting it before.  
  
Lucius' eyes moved to his second cousin's plate, and a small smile formed on his lips. That would be venison, my dear.  
  
Draco's head shot up and he looked over at Lucius. Venison was an uncommon food to find in this part of England, because only a few deer, magical or non-magical, lived in these forests. Lucius met his gaze, and firmly held it from across the table, and Draco began to feel sick as thoughts of the worst came into his mind. His father wouldn't. _He couldn't._   
  
Eugenie smiled smugly. No wonder I can't recollect tasting such a divine thing. I always become so attached to woodland creatures.  
  
Yes, well, Eugenie, Lucius replied, never once looking anywhere but Draco's eyes, attachment is for the weak.  
  
Draco knew what had been done.  
  
Panic overcame him and he stood up quickly. I-I've got to go. Excuse me. And he bolted out the doors and into the foyer. He had to get to the menagerie. Had to check. Had to get to the menagerie...  
  
#################  
  
A few guests watched Draco leave with curiosity, then resumed their gossipy conversations. Ron paused for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. Why was Draco so upset? He had to go see if he was all right, so he got up and meandered to the double doors, as he pulled on the handle, a squeaky voice called from behind him,   
  
Ron whipped around as a pudgy figure waddled up to him. It was Pansy Parkinson, dressed in an frightfully tight black dress. She giggled, wobbling into him. I thought it was youuu. She was clearly sloshed, and she giggled some more.  
  
Er, hi, Pansy, Ron answered, backing into the door a bit.  
  
The wine is fab-, fab- Pansy looked confused as she tried to sound out the word. She threw up her hands, Oh, whatever! Ron meant to exit through the door once again, but he felt two hands pulling him back. Pansy turned him back to face her and said, Ronnnn, I wanted to let you know that I don't believe the rumours. You don't seem like the sort of boy who likes boys, you know?  
  
Well, thanks, Pansy, Ron told her, pulling her hands from his shoulders. But I've got to go. With that, he burst out the door and into the foyer.  
  
Ron would've laughed, but he was worried. Where was Draco? Then he noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. He pushed through it, finding himself immediately enveloped by darkness. Oh, Draco. He had to find him.  
  
###################  
  
Draco stumbled through the dark curtain of night, trying to find his way to the menagerie. He should've brought a candle with him, but he wasn't thinking about that back at the house. He wasn't even thinking about it now, as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, running his hand along the Manor's outer wall as a guide. Then, at last, he saw the small glow from the old wooden building, and ran toward it until his fingers felt the wooden door and pushed it open.  
  
In the dim lantern light, Draco felt his heart speed up as he slowly walked down the hallway. Everything was quiet, and Draco didn't like it. He pulled out his wand as he neared the door, preparing to speak the password.  
  
But the door had all ready been opened.  
  
Draco's throat clenched as he entered the small room, and he dropped to his knees as tears tumbled freely down his cheeks. He knew why he'd sensed so much pain last night.  
  
There, in the center of the room, three swords had been jabbed into the dirt floor. Upon each sword was the head of a stag, with its cold, lifeless eyes staring into Draco's.   
  
Draco smelled blood, and sobbed silently, cradling his head in his hands. They were dead. All of them. Dead. Destroyed. Because of him.  
  
Draco stood on shaky legs, unable to look into their frightened faces any longer. He tore himself away, and felt himself get dizzy as he ran back down the hall and into the darkness. He had to get away. He was a murderer. He'd brought this upon himself, and he had to get away.  
  
Suddenly, he collided with something soft. Another body, whose arms instinctively wrapped around Draco's waist. Let go of me! Draco cried, struggling.  
  
Draco, it's me! said the other boy, gripping him tighter. It's me, he said in a softer voice, resting one of his hands behind Draco's head.  
  
Draco let out a half-gasp, half-sob. he whispered.  
  
Yes. Come on. Let's get you back inside.  
  
Draco felt himself being pulled, but his legs wobbled and before he could stop himself, he fell foreword. Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him back up before he could hit the ground.  
  
Woah, woah. Okay, I've got you, Ron told him, holding him secure.  
  
Draco couldn't help but sob again. He had never cried this much before, and he buried his face in Ron's shoulder. He killed them, he whispered, but it was my fault. He shuddered, and Ron stroked his hair, trying to calm him down.  
  
You didn't do anything wrong, Draco, he whispered, turning his head to nuzzle his face against Draco's.  
  
Draco could smell his favourite soap on Ron's skin, and for a brief moment, it took his concentration off of what he'd just seen. When the tears stopped flowing from his eyes, he pulled away slightly so he could look at Ron. In the dim light from the menagerie, and the moonlight above, he could make out the contours of Ron's face, with eyes staring at him expectantly.  
  
Ron waited with anticipation, watching Draco's eyes, like two silver lamps, flicker nervously over his face. Ron gulped, feeling a little nervous, himself. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, like Don't blame yourself, but instead, he surprised himself by saying softly:   
  
Do it.  
  
Draco no longer needed an incentive. He rested his hands on Ron's back, slowly pulling them closer together until Ron's lips were on his own.  
  
They closed their eyes and stayed that way for what many might call half of eternity, but it wasn't nearly long enough. For the first time in either of their lives, Draco and Ron felt that nothing could be more right than this.  
  
Draco reluctantly pulled away, taking Ron's hands in his own. He sighed. Sleep next to me tonight.  
  
Ron chuckled. Is that an order, _Sir_?  
  
Draco gave a small smile. Then he leaned into Ron once more to kiss him.  
  
###################  
  
A word from the author: the music swells Swoon. Well, this was certainly a complicated chapter, wasn't it? The good news is Ron hasn't been harmed. The bad news.....our three favourite stags are no longer living. But then more good news: Draco finally grows balls and kisses the object of his affections. Yay!  
  
Thank you all soooo much for your wonderful reviews and criticism. I want to personally thank Noctalune. My dear, your critique has been extremely helpful, and it gives me a challenge which is really good for me. Even though I'm unable to correct the chapters posted (my computer won't let me remove stories from ff.net for some reason), I have been using your ideas in correcting the chapters stored on my hard drive. So, your thoughts haven't gone unheard, er, unread. I wanted to give a few explanations as to why my spelling and grammar is off in a few places you mentioned:  
  
Firstly, in one of the chapters (I think seventh), I had Ron think Tell me how what just happened. It is, without a doubt, grammatically totally incorrect, but it's also a habit of mine. In my school, if we want to know what's going on, we say How what just happened? I'm not sure how the developed, but we just say it anyway. It's a habit I've got to break. hehe.  
  
The second thing was my dreadful spelling of . Yeah, isn't really that close, is it? g I sort of buggered that one up because I leant the books to my friend Jess, and I haven't been able to use them as a reference, so I basically guessed how the word was spelt. Oh, well. I think I got it right this time. But once again, thank you for telling me this stuff. I really appreciate it! hugs  
  
By the way, a bunch of you were asking what country I'm from. Technically, I'm from Scotland, or at least, I was born there, but I've been moving a lot between Toronto (Canada) and Kent (England). My step dad has business stuff in both places, so, you get the idea. Oh! Thanks to everyone who offered input on NYU. It's definitely one school I'll be applying for, but sort of as an exchange student if need be. It's not like I can't speak English, so there shouldn't be a problem.  
  
Goddess, I wrote a lonnnnng word' today. Hehe. Brightest blessings!  
  
Delicious love, Ebony


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